


Don’t Take Your Work Home With You

by step_lightly_little_wren



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Addict Laura Hale, Alpha Derek Hale, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, Ass Play, BAMF Lydia Martin, Biting, Blow Jobs, Boss Derek Hale, Boss/Employee Relationship, Canon-Typical Violence, Comfort No Hurt, Daddy Kink, Derek Hale & Jackson Whittemore Friendship, Derek Hale Can Have Nice Things, Derek Hale Deserves Nice Things, Drug Addiction, Emissaries, Enthusiastic Consent, Explicit Consent, Face-Fucking, Fluff and Smut, Healthy Derek Hale, Healthy Relationships, Implied Mpreg, Knotting, Laura Hale Lives, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Not Beta Read, Oblivious Stiles Stilinski, Pack Dynamics, Pack Feels, Past Kate Argent/Derek Hale, Pet Names, Praise Kink, Rimming, Rough Sex, Scent Marking, Scott McCall & Stiles Stilinski Friendship, Self-Lubrication, Size Difference, Size Kink, Slow Build Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Sorry Not Sorry, Stiles Stilinski Has an Oral Fixation, Stiles Stilinski in Heat, Stiles is a Very Good Boy, Suit Kink, Suit Porn, Top Derek Hale/Bottom Stiles Stilinski, Werewolf Sex, mentions of Hale Fire, mentions of past character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-02
Updated: 2019-10-05
Packaged: 2020-11-10 15:23:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 56,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20853974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/step_lightly_little_wren/pseuds/step_lightly_little_wren
Summary: Stiles was suddenly reminded of those Choose Your Own Adventure books. He wished he could have looked ahead to see if choosing, “I want to climb you like a tree,” would land him in the sexy sex-beast’s sexy sex-lair or the unemployment line in the mystical Land of Fired-For-Sexually-Harassing-His-Boss.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All mistakes here are all my own lazy typing skills! No beta because I am not ready to admit to anyone in my real life how far I am willing to go on this ship.

“Good news, everyone!” Stiles Stilinski exclaimed, crashing through the heavy black wooden door at his usual sometime-after-ten-ish.

His boss and only occupant of the room, Derek Hale, barely raised his eyes from his laptop.

“That deli down the street from me closed! The one where the owner harassed me? I went by today; the lights were off and there was a big sign in the window saying it was for lease. Feel free to congratulate me, because obviously my one-star review paid off big time.” 

“Fine work,” Derek said drily, switching his laptop display to his large set of monitors and turning away behind his huge dark cherry desk. “Since you’re undoubtedly aware that ninety percent of all new restaurants close within their first year, I’m sure you’re proud that you were a stronger influence than the current market trends.”

“Okay, well, that still leaves ten percent that make it, right? I can guarantee that ten percent probably aren’t actively harassing their customers.”

Derek allowed him a tip of his head in acknowledgement, but Stiles was getting himself worked up again.

“And especially male Omegas. Like, wow, you’ve literally just discovered the lowest hanging fruit, big man. You were definitely way ahead of every conservative bigot who can get his hands around the shaft of a microphone and – hell – an entire culture of toxic masculinity that makes us into walking jokes! You really broke through on finding a brand-new group of people to shit on! It was all brand-new information that I’m a pussy-ass twink, like, brand new!”

Derek had turned back to him and stood during his wildly gesticulating rant, circling around the desk to stand in front of him. “Stiles, his opinions are only a reflection on himself, not on you.”

Stiles made a dismissive groan.

“Uneducated Alphas can sometimes engage in cruel behaviors that they think make them appear powerful or strong, without even realizing that all they’re actually doing is actively weakening the healthy pack dynamics that could give them real strength.”

_Ugh, this again. _“Welp. I’m pretty sure the only education he needs is a baseball bat.”

“And it would be a well-deserved lesson,” Derek agreed. “But not the one that would make a difference. Just know that his opinion isn’t the majority’s, and one that only circulates in very small echo chambers that are only full of people who are too weak to lead on their own merit and think that putting down others is the way for them to raise themselves up. When he sensed that you were a strong, powerful, confident Omega, it made him angry because he is not those things. You are an incredible Omega, Stiles. You’re an incredible _person_. Don’t let him drag you down by giving him a second thought.”

Stiles chewed his lip as he examined his trainers for a moment, his face burning. That was basically the paradigm of their relationship. Long, harmonious periods of cool, calm, effective partnership, with a sudden, intense werewolf-life-lesson that validated Stiles’ sense of self-worth.

“Did you beat him up? Is that actually why he closed?”

“Don’t be crude. I bought the building, forced him to remove his advertising signage, raised the rent, and he went bankrupt,” he volleyed back deadpan, returning to the other side of his desk, mission complete. “It’s a deli; it happens all the time.”

Stiles smiled thinly at the attempt of a joke and returned to his office, which was really a large nook outside of Derek’s door. It was clear he’d been dismissed.

They worked in an area of the suite away from the rest of the humans on the team. Stiles interacted the most with the rest of the office staff out of the other people in his pod, but he’d heard within his first week that his area was called The Hall by the rest of the office.

He’d practically cringed inside out when he’d been told that. Of all the opportunities for puns with a whole hallway full of supernatural people? Just, “The Hall”? He may as well look at the cameras and practice his Jim Face. Such a waste.

Lydia had explained it succinctly on his first day. Clients either went one way or the other with Derek. Either clients just wanted a consultant and they worked with whatever team they were assigned, or they intentionally sought him out. Sometimes because they were supernatural themselves or had supernatural staff of their own, or because they wanted the prestige of working with a full-shift Alpha. Especially one as _pedigreed_ as Alpha Hale, she’d added with a smug sort of triumph.

They were down to their core team of Derek and four Betas, but they’d previously employed a kitsunes and Steinadlers and others – “_Not_ diversity hires,” Lydia had added emphatically – and he’d just missed a werebear, or Jägerbar if he were being proper, that had worked there as Derek’s equal for five years before he had emigrated to Europe and started his own consulting firm. No hard feelings, they wished him well, Derek still worked with him on occasion. But they would be hiring again in the spring.

Lydia Martin had been one of the company’s co-founders, along with her first husband who she’d married straight out of grad school. While she had never had any interest or experience in human resources or strategic consulting, she said that her ex-husband’s passion was infectious, and she jumped in with him. Stiles inferred that she was as brilliant at running a company as she was at literally everything else in her life.

She had explained that Derek’s role specialized in the resource management and allocations in mergers and acquisitions, but his experiences leant him to multiple scenarios they consulted on. Projects as small as helping companies clarify their vision or mission statements, or as significant as being a sitting company board member.

Stiles’ job, however, was really just a lot of continual, glorified scavenger hunting for information. But he loved it.

He also loved that flowers that always came like clockwork, the deliveries somehow aligned perfectly with the first days of Stiles’ heat cycle. Though his suppressants removed the embarrassing _messiness_, he still had to suffer through flu-like symptoms that just left him generally miserable. The flowers somehow helped brighten up the space, and although he still felt irritable and snappish, they helped a little. Heating pads helped more – he had four of them stashed in his desk. But the flowers were still nice.

Derek had never said where they’d come from, but based on how regularly they appeared, it must have been a long-standing delivery. At first, Stiles thought they came with the office, but he’d investigated the offices in the other hallways already and nobody else received regularly scheduled flowers in their spaces. Derek had never given them even a glance on his comings and goings, so he didn’t imagine they were from a romantic partner. His best guess was that they were from a grateful client who just made a standing order, like a flower club subscription. Those probably existed.

Stiles had asked directly, once, but Derek had only stared at him for a long moment and instead proceeded to ask him about a missing analytics report that, granted, he had actually forgotten was needed that day, but the subject died with that.

**

For more than half of his workdays, he would bring his laptop with him and sit in the stylish wingback chair in the corner, typing away quietly while Derek worked, or reading him interesting - and even occasionally pertinent - articles or reports. Occasionally, he just watched Derek’s screens while he worked, smoothly transitioning between proposal writing, emails, Slack, analytics, and their internal CRM as easy as breathing.

When he’d started, he’d been side-by-side in the nook with his predecessor, Joseph, but when the end of Joseph’s two weeks was up, Stiles had installed himself on the opposite side of Derek’s desk since he had questions about everything every two minutes. That had somehow felt indescribably awkward for no real apparent reason and wasn’t working for other of them, so they had tried the side of the desk, but Stiles was too in the way when Derek had to leave. After forcibly wheeling Stiles out of the way for the umpteenth time and interrupting Stiles’ work yet again, Derek had disappeared into the other side of the office building, clearly on a hunt.

He had come back with a maroon upholstered chair, removed a filing cabinet like it was the weight of a shoebox, and shoved the chair in its place. He had looked silently at Stiles with triumphant eyebrows and Stiles pretended his quivering heart hadn’t done a belly flop into the butterflies in his stomach, so he just shrugged. “That’ll do, I guess.”

Derek had grinned, and it was the first time Stiles realized how easily he smiled, like it had just been waiting to break through, closer to the surface than he’d ever imagined. His face looked better smiling than it did scowling, and Stiles was determined to make it happen as much as possible.

But, a harmonious and effective business partnership was not built on the ability to make his boss smile, so Stiles forced himself to settle for striving to make Derek marginally proud instead… which was a much more totally normal thing to expect from a grown-up job and much less problematic.

**

Derek looked up to the door before it swung open without warning. Lydia Martin walked in on needle-pointed blood red heels, the waves of her strawberry blond hair shaped around her head like a crown. She was wearing a pair of tailored navy pants with shiny buttons that went up to her ribcage and a silky white blouse that made her look like royalty.

Liam, her assistant, trailed after her. He was more of an actual assistant to Lydia than Stiles was to Derek; Liam also had the job of watching over an incredibly powerful Banshee that would occasionally enter a fugue state and wander off on some necessary, last-minute spiritual errand. His job ranged from getting her coffee, picking up her dry cleaning, or organizing a personal security detail when Lydia wasn’t at her condo when he went to pick her up in the morning. He was young but appeared competent and intent to prove himself. _Thirsty_, was always the word that came to Stiles’ mind. Which he felt was kind of like the word _moist_, and always kinda skeeved him out.

Lydia stopped short. “Derek, why did you put your Omega in the corner?”

“He helps me think.”

She glanced doubtfully at Stiles, her perfectly painted mouth twisting disapprovingly. 

Derek closed his laptop, moving it aside to give Lydia his full attention. 

“I feel like we should talk about this,” she said with a heavy sigh. “But honestly, I’m just too angry with you right now.”

Liam stepped past her shoulder, sliding a stack of papers on the desk.

“You will, of course, notice the lack of red pen. I cannot believe you actually gave me a final recommendation that required no red pen. This is unacceptable.”

Derek gave an amused noise, approximate to a laugh. “It looks like you’ve finally gotten through to me.”

“I never thought I’d live to see the day. It was flawless, beginning to end. Ship it to the Project Lead.”

“I’m going to give it to Reyes and Boyd to deliver.”

“Are you sure they’re ready for that?”

“No. But I don’t give them the chance, how will I ever know?”

A ghost of a smile flitted across her face, only just barely. “I’ll be expecting an action plan included in the sunset doc.”

“I would never imagine doing anything else. Have you eaten, or would you like to get lunch?”

“Liam.”

There was a furious tapping from behind her. “She’s booked today, but available Thursday for pitas. I’ll send the calendar invite.”

“Pitas. Thursday. How charmingly specific. I’ll look forward to it.”

Her eyes zeroed in on Stiles, who had been staying very purposefully still in the corner. He had been testing his theory that if he didn’t move, she wouldn’t see him, like a velociraptor.

“Be careful.”

Stiles didn’t know if she was talking to him or Derek, or even as HR or as a Banshee, so he just tried to activate his latent camouflage powers and blend in with the upholstery. Maybe he had been bitten by a radioactive chameleon recently without realizing? He wasn’t sure if it worked or not because Lydia just turned and stalked through his office with smart clicks of her heels, Liam padding silently after her.

“Want me to order you lunch, boss?”

“Anything but pitas.”

** 

Lydia Martin was no less terrifying or beautiful after knowing her for as many months as Stiles had worked there. She had been the one to interview him for his job; his roommate, Scott McCall, had heard it from his gross moocher friend, Isaac Lahey, that their research assistant had found another position and given his notice, and did he know anyone? Stiles, after graduation, had found what could only loosely be called gainful employment as an overworked whipping boy at a marketing analytics firm, but he’d been dying on the low wages and long hours, and immediately threw his hat in the ring. He’d gotten a call the next day and called out sick to go to an interview the day following.

He was shown in by an amiable receptionist without having to wait, despite being ten minutes early. Lydia had been sitting in the small conference room, straight from the glossy pages of a fashion magazine. Derek sat on the other end of the table, wearing a gorgeous gray suit that had been tailored within millimeters of his body and moved with him as he stood to shake his hand in ways that should have been illegal. He sat down his legs open just enough to still be considered a gentleman, the image of cool, calm composure that Stiles could never even imagine himself remotely emulating and Stiles almost hated him for it. There was a heaviness to his brow that was balanced by a narrow, regal looking nose and a finely sculpted jaw.

His face was the perfect mask of false openness, like he’d crafted a face people would feel encouraged to talk to, to open up to, to seek his approval. Stiles realized he could see right through it. As they met each other’s gaze, something changed subtly in the lines around his mouth and Stiles knew Derek had seen something in his face as well.

Stiles darted his eyes away and resolved not to look directly at him again – and managed to last until just about three and a half seconds into the interview, when he suddenly snapped his head back up. “You’re Derek _Hale_!”

Lydia and Derek exchanged lightening quick, amused glances. She smirked. “Yes, we just covered that.”

“No, I mean… I’m from Beacon Hills…”

“Yes, we’re quite aware,” she said brusquely. “But I don’t imagine that will have much bearing on your qualifications.”

“Um. Yeah. No. Yeah. Sorry. Seeing someone from home just took me by surprise,” he clarified uselessly, attempting to settle and compose himself. Derek had remained silent and impassive through the exchange. Later, Stiles would be kicking himself, because he’d been in the same room with two people from Beacon Hills, and he’d just made himself look like a fucking walnut.

“Tell me about a time when you worked with anyone of a supernatural nature, and any challenges that posed to you,” Lydia said, drawing his attention back to the fact he was still in a job interview.

Stiles did his best to get himself back on track, but she had been ruthless. Stiles didn’t know if he loved her or hated her. At the end, he was ready to pack up what little tatters of his pride Lydia had left him and call it a wash when Derek stood and buttoned his jacket with a practiced ease that Stiles both admired and envied. Stiles scrambled abruptly to his feet like he’d been given a command. “When can you start?”

Lydia only gazed quietly from her seat at her coworker, bemused, and tapped the end of her pen on her mouth. Derek had pointedly ignored her.

“Tomorrow, in theory.” Stiles had seen his previous coworkers give notice, to be fired immediately. And it’s not like he had his own desk to be allowed to bring anything from home. He might have left half a jar of peanut butter he’d been eating with a spoon for lunches on a counter somewhere. “But I don’t have a car, so I guess I would need to figure out what the bus routes here are…”

“Unlock your phone for me.”

Perplexed, Stiles unlocked it and handed it over. He belatedly realized he’d essentially handed a stranger his entire life and he should have offered at least some token protest, but Derek seemed to be on a mission. He pulled out a wafer-thin wallet from his back pocket and glanced briefly at a matte black card before replacing it.

Derek Hale, a member of the family he’d grown up hearing and reading about in Beacon Hills and even in college as a leading character in the “it can happen anywhere” cautionary story of supernatural intolerance, handed his phone back after a moment, open to his Uber app. New payment details had been saved. “Ten, starting tomorrow.”

“And bring two forms of identification,” Lydia added, gathering up the notebook she’d been doodling strings of indecipherable numbers and symbols.

“Wait, how much is the salary?”

Derek paused, as if he hadn’t considered that important at all. “How much do you want?”

“Um. Fifty thousand a year?”

“For full time? You can easily start at seventy with your qualifications.”

“Then I want eighty thousand a year,” Stiles declared boldly. 

“That’s better. Lydia will review our benefits package tomorrow and finalize your employment contract. I’ll see you after your onboarding, Mr. Stilinski.”

Stiles stood an extended his hand, a wide grin on his face. “I’ll see you then, Alpha Hale.”

Once he’d gotten home and exploded all over the walls, Scott had given him endless shit for getting hired to work for an Alpha. It had been good natured teasing though, and Stiles had brushed it off easily.

He would never admit to Scott about that little wistful feeling he kept buried way deep down, though. Nothing would ever be done with that little wist, it was just something he lived with.

Especially because he didn’t want an Alpha. He needed an equal. He especially didn’t want to be a conquest just to allow someone with arrogant delusions of power to be his conqueror. He didn’t want the love story that was set to dark, dramatic music, with twists and turns and big reveals.

Nothing about Alpha and Omega love stories were subtle. They were tragic once they were broken down, to one party or another. Someone had to give all of themselves while someone else had to take it, with no regard for emotional safety. Or someone had to be broken and someone had to fix them. These all-or-nothing romantic relationship models Hollywood gave him probably wouldn’t be able to sustain themselves after the credits.

Stiles wanted his love to creep into the smallest parts of his life. He wanted tiny moments - a thousand love stories that were each so small that someone else would miss them if they blinked, all piling on top of each other until his heart was full of them.

His love story was when someone kept track of how his favorite drinks changed with the seasons, and didn’t make fun of him when he got choked up every time he thought about that one episode of Nightvale, and waited patiently while he greeted every single dog he saw in public, and noticed when movies he was excited about were out in theaters. The moments Stiles wanted were in being taken seriously, even about ridiculous things, or saying he’d tried his best even if he’d sucked, or researching how much a vacation would cost to somewhere Stiles said he wanted to visit, even if they couldn’t afford it.

But he also thought he wouldn’t mind separating love and sex, and therein lay Stiles’ real problem with working with an Alpha. His dick did not make good decisions.

**

Waiting at the counter for his regular coffee run order to be filled, he turned to see a familiar face he hadn’t seen in a few months approaching from one side.

Joseph was balancing three trays of coffees but looked totally at ease with it. Sometimes Stiles couldn’t even manage one. “Oh, hey, Stiles! How are you? Are you still with Hale?”

“Yeah, still holding on there. Are you still with that tech firm?”

“I love it there. I’ve started doing database engineering. But I’m surprised you’ve stayed this long, it must be a new record for assistants, right?”

“With Derek? Honestly, this is one of the best jobs I’ve ever had.”

Joseph scrunched his face skeptically.

“I mean, right, you just Google things all day, get paid for reading news, and get to look at a crazy hot Alpha in a suit and tie? Hell, I’d do those things for free.”

He still looked concerned with Stiles’ mental state. “I do miss the salary. But I guess he just wasn’t my type,” he finally said with a measure of diplomacy.

“No? Not down with a little choke-me-Daddy?”

Joseph finally grinned and allowed him a good-natured laugh. “I think it was a little more scared-for-my-life for me, but I’m glad you’re happy, Stiles. Text me sometime; we should get drinks before Thanksgiving. My housemates would love to meet you.”

He brightened at the idea of a new social connection. “Yeah! Yeah, man, that’s awesome! Thanks!” 

Joseph continued along, and Stiles was about to duck into the coffee shop, when he wheeled around, a thought suddenly striking him. “Who sends the flowers?” he yelled at Joseph’s retreating back.

Joseph turned around. “What flowers?” he called back.

Stiles stood frozen for a moment, too frustrated that he had been denied the closure he had gleefully been anticipating to form a reaction, until Joseph finally smiled, offered a tip of his chin in farewell, and continued down the street until his dark jacket was lost among the other pedestrians. His synapses finally started firing again but was no closer to figuring out the Case of the Mystery Bouquets.

Stiles was back in the building with the tray of four coffees and Meredith’s bag of gluten-free muffins quickly, mind still puzzling how he could trace the flowers to the source. He’d start visiting shops in the area that delivered starting with the closest and expanding out, seeing if any similar bouquets were being displayed in windows, and then figure out a way to extract information. Pausing his machinations to deliver coffees, he found Derek with Isaac Lahey and Vernon Boyd – who preferred to go by his last name, just Boyd, like a diva – in their shared open office space, but Erica Reyes was absent.

Isaac was idly whistling the opening credits song to Firefly, which Stiles only recognized because he was currently re-binging it for the hundredth time because he had no life, scrolling through a long spreadsheet on one of his double screens. Derek was leaning on Boyd’s desk, both of them reading something Stiles couldn’t make out and making unhappy noises. He distributed the cups to each of them until he was left with the largest one.

“Small conference room. She’s done with her call – you can go in,” Isaac offered brightly, ever helpful only as long as his Alpha was around to see it.

“Miss Basic Bitch Pumpkin Spice,” Boyd said with a curl of his lip.

“Mr. I Drink It Black Even Though I Hate It Because I Wanna Look Tough,” Isaac volleyed back.

“I am lactose intolerant!”

Derek watched Stiles through the exchange, sipping his Long Black, his eyebrows particularly content. Stiles blushed at the attention while Boyd and Isaac lobbed teasing insults back and forth. Derek gave him a wink and Stiles turned and hurried out, heart pounding loud in his ears. God, he still wasn’t used to that wink, even though he did it all the time. And it wasn’t anything special just for him, he’d definitely seen him wink at Lydia plenty of times. Once at Isaac last week. But Stiles wasn’t counting.

He was totally fucking counting.

Erica was indeed in the small conference room. He peeked through the thin glass casement beside the door to see her back to him, conference headset on the table beside her. He knocked twice and pushed the door open.

She jumped up, spinning around with a growl. Her eyes flashed an intense, clear yellow, her fangs exposed as she crouched threateningly, hands splayed and claws out.

“Shit! Fuck!” Stiles exclaimed, staggering back. “What the balls, Erica?”

Erica’s eyes flickered past him, and Stiles spun to see Derek standing behind him, one hand holding his coffee and the other in his trouser pocket. He was gazing evenly at Erica, his jaw set and his eyebrows raised as if waiting for a response to a question.

Erica returned to her human form easily, lip still curled in a snarl.

Derek moved past Stiles and took the pumpkin spice coffee from the holder. He handed it to Erica, who glared at it for a moment before begrudgingly taking it. “Thanks, Stiles,” she ground out, eyes still on Derek.

Derek loomed over his Beta for a long moment, then leaned in and pressed his forehead against hers. She closed her eyes and sighed, but her forehead was still furrowed in anger. Derek leaned closer and rubbed his cheek down her neck, scent marking her. Stiles watched awkwardly, unsure if it was ruder to leave or stay.

When Derek straightened, he turned sharply on his heel and didn’t spare Erica another glance. He indicated with a nod for Stiles to precede him down the hall, back to his office. Stiles hightailed it as quickly as he could without appearing to be race-walking.

“What the hell was that?” he demanded in a whisper once they were in their connected office space.

“Erica has been having some trouble adjusting to some hierarchal changes in the pack,” he replied with an almost imperceptible shrug. “She’s a bit on edge. Where’s your coffee?”

“Oh. Um. I don’t like to manage more than a tray at a time. But I didn’t really want any.”

Derek nodded. “Do you have your next priorities clarified for the next few hours?”

“For the whole rest of the day, boss,” he confirmed proudly.

“Very good.”

Stiles would have preened under the simple praise in most circumstances, but he was still rattled from Erica’s outburst. Instead, he just smiled thinly and went back to his desk to turn the ringer back on his phone. No voicemails.

Derek had disappeared, as if escorting Stiles back to his desk had been his only necessary task. Stiles put on his earbuds and set to work.

An hour into his obscure OSHA procedural research, an orange paper cup was placed on his desk. He startled, yanking out his earbuds by habit as he looked up. Derek was retreating into his office, the smell of espresso still lingering on his jacket.

_Hale_ was scrawled on the side of the cup. Stiles curled his hands around it and drew it close, turning the name towards himself and holding it as if it were precious, tiny treasure. Whatever it was, it smelled like chocolate and caramel. He took a long inhale through his nose and repeated to himself that this was a conscientious boss thing, not an Alpha thing. _Definitely no way it could be an Alpha thing._

And even if it was, he wasn’t that kind of Omega, and Derek knew it.


	2. Chapter 2

“Do you think she’s talking to that guy for too long?” Scott demanded quietly, covering his mouth with the side of his hand to muffle the sound.

Stiles turned inelegantly in his chair to see Allison, the cute barista that Scott was currently over-obsessed with, writing an order on the side of a white cup while smiling at a middle-aged Beta with an impressive beard and blue flannel jacket. Two seconds later, he was joined by another Beta wearing a sleeping baby in some sort of fancy pouch on her chest.

“Yup. They’re banging.” Stiles turned back around in his chair to continue idly swiping left on his phone. He was full of nothing but left-swipes lately. Not that he proclaimed to have high standards, or any standards really, but he knew when something didn’t do it for him. _Left, left, left_.

Scott grumbled and at least had the good grace to look slightly ashamed.

Stiles’ phone pulsed twice on the wood of the small round table. He grabbed it up quickly before Scott could see the preview text appear at the top of the screen, as Scott scoffed incredulously. “Dude! It’s Saturday!”

The message was a street address with the word “_Immediately_”.

“Uh, I gotta run, guy,” he stammered, opening his Uber app.

“On a _Saturday_?”

“If you want to go back to paying an even fifty-fifty on the rent, I’m more than happy to pass up overtime.”

That only deterred Scott for a few seconds, but it did take some of the righteous indignation out of him. “But you don’t have to go, right? Like, you won’t be fired if you don’t?”

Stiles just shrugged. He wasn’t sure why he felt so defensive. He shared practically everything with Scott, but he still kept that little jump his heart did every time he thought about his boss a secret. Maybe Scott mistook his elevated heartbeat to be stress. He wasn’t going to risk letting him harp on it.

“Nah, it’s cool. He probably just needs me to tie his shoes for him. No big deal.” Stiles swallowed the last of his caramel macchiato in one last noisy gulp and left the mug for Scott to deal with. He twined his striped scarf around his neck messily and grabbed his jacket and messenger bag. “Uber is on its way, I’m gonna go outside. You plan on stalking here for much longer?”

Scott shifted in his chair. “It’s not stalking.”

If Stiles could have rolled his eyes harder, they would have popped out of his skull. “Whatever. I’m making shepherd’s pie for dinner if you’re gonna be home. I’ll see you later.”

The address was less than a ten-minute drive with a pleasant middle-aged lady who tried to offer him peppermints three times. The bustling suburban residential gave way to gentrified, austere facades, and the woman seemed a little more impressed with him when they finally stopped at a three-story brownstone that was abuzz with activity. Contractor and electricians’ vans were taking up the prime spots on the street in front of it. His driver got as close as she could and they both sat for a moment, looking up at the impressive structures. The lace curtains were probably hand crocheted with artisan yarn made of hundred-dollar bills.

After checking his phone again one last time just to be sure he had the right address, he jumped out, slung his messenger bag on his shoulder, and climbed the steps behind a man lugging in huge buckets of paint. The whole place was torn apart, half the doorways covered in plastic sheets, tripping hazards abundant. Even half destroyed, the beauty in the architecture was still shining through.

He found his boss was engaged in conversation in a high-ceilinged alcove with an impressively competent looking woman with a crewcut and Dickies. He turned as Stiles entered and a confused sort of surprise registered on his face, as if the Alpha didn’t recognize him. Did he forget he messaged him? Did he text the wrong person? That’d be way too awkward. The woman appeared to have gotten what she wanted from their talk and turned to follow the man with the buckets of paint up a huge set of stairs.

Derek just stared for a long moment before Stiles adjusted his scarf a little further from his neck and tried a smile. All the glib comments he usually had at the ready failed. He’d never seen Derek look so open and unguarded, dressed as his mild-mannered alter-ego in a soft looking burgundy knit sweater and black jeans, his oxfords traded for low black leather boots that still probably cost more than his paycheck. He looked like a cozy day in a used bookstore wrapped in a peppermint mocha in front of a fireplace and tied with a bow made of cuddles.

“Uh, you texted me?” he tried.

Derek blinked hard, shaking his head slightly. “Yeah. Good morning.”

“Ditto. What’s up, Clark Kent?”

The Alpha was suddenly crowding him, his hand grasping Stiles’ blue and bronze Ravenclaw scarf and drawing him closer. “You smell good.”

“I showered last night,” he blurted out. “Good ol’ Irish Spring, cleans a man up right.”

“Where did you just come from?”

“Oh! Um… this coffee shop, a few blocks from here. Silver Arrow Coffee Roasters. Scott has this crazy infatuation with one of the baristas, it’s becoming, like, a real issue. We go there like every weekend. I’m pretty sure that he goes way more, but, y’know, my schedule… He has more time than I do in the morning, because he works mid-shift, but I don’t know how often she works. They finally went out once last week, but that just made it worse….”

Derek still hadn’t let go of his scarf and Stiles was still rambling, but for whatever reason, Derek was still looking at him as if his words were meaningful or important in some unfathomable way. Stiles forced himself to close his mouth, unable to look up and meet his eyes. Instead, he became deeply emotionally invested in the knit pattern of Derek’s sweater.

The taller man moved even closer, arranging his feet naturally so they were as close as they could be without actually touching. Oh god. Was this the moment? Was this that slow-motion scene where they would make eye contact and slowly lean in, eyes going to each other’s mouths? Was he expected to do the ninety percent lean or the ten percent? He was _here_ for this.

“Is it walking distance?” Derek asked.

“Technically, for some people.”

The corners of his eyes wrinkled slightly, as if he were suppressing a smile. He bent his head slightly and Stiles felt his hair move as Derek inhaled. The pull of his breath skated over his skin like a touch. Stiles ground his teeth and thought of England, willing his muscles not to turn his head to expose his neck.

Shit, he’d be the ninety percenter – he knew it. He would go the full one hundred if he had to, he didn’t need to have any pride. He was starved for affection, damn it. Desperate times…

“I’m done here for the day. We have some time. Show me where it is?”

He swallowed and took a breath. Oh, man. What was wrong with him? “Uh, yeah. Yeah, it’s down on Canaan.”

The Alpha nodded towards the door, but didn’t loosen his grip, forcing Stiles to trust he wouldn’t choke him as he turned away. As Stiles should have expected, his hand easily fell away once he moved. Stiles flew down the steps like he didn’t even realize they were there.

Once outside in the fresh air, a black Camaro gave a tight beep at their approach. “What’s this, you have a weekend car?”

Stiles swore he saw the tiniest corner of a smile as he turned away. “It’s actually my little sister’s. I’m only babysitting while she’s overseas. I like to get her out to stretch her legs once in a while.”

“Wait, you have a little sister?” Stiles felt like he knew that but had forgotten. He definitely remembered he had an older sister. Nobody could forget that. The details of the actual story about the Hale House fire were often murky and different aspects embellished for the teller’s motives, and he had heard it told more than a hundred times in a hundred different ways, but so much time had passed since the actual event that sometimes he forgot what the true details were as he’d read in his father’s police reports.

“Since she was born,” he said easily, sliding into the driver’s seat. Stiles clambered quickly into the passenger side, struggling to pull his messenger bag off at the same time and failing miserably. Derek waited patiently while he flailed and untangled himself, and then extended his personal cell phone to him, unlocked and on the main screen. “Put on some music.”

“Are you sure you trust me with this?”

“Canaan Street, right?”

Stiles found Pandora in a folder on his first guess. “Yeah, right next to a consignment shop. There’s parking right behind it, too.”

“Buckle up,” Derek reminded him, finally pulling away from the curb.

“Shit, yeah…” Stiles jumped to comply, barely taking his eyes from the app.

The recently played stations were eclectic. Trance, Big Band, Classic Rock, something called Folk Punk… all listened to in the last few weeks. Stiles scrolled through, obsessively cataloguing all the different genres like the creepy stalker he really should admit to himself he was. Finally, he selected a recently played station that promised something called Chillwave. Odesza immediately came from the car’s speakers with no direction from him. Derek turned it down to a more reasonable volume, but let it play without comment.

“So, what’s the deal with the house? Did you just buy it?”

“I’m flattered you would assume that, but I don’t have that much money to try to flip a brownstone. My great aunt left it to me. She lived it until she passed, so the last time it saw any updating was when she bought a new toaster in the nineties.”

“Were you close?”

“Fairly.” The silence that followed was awkward.

“I’m sure she was a treasure,” Stiles attempted.

Derek’s response consisted of shifting gears to slow at a red light. 

“So, now you’re rehabbing it? Are you going to live there or sell it? Maybe rent it thousands below market to your favorite assistant for a tax write off?”

“Would you really want to rattle around in a big place like that? It has four bedrooms.”

“You’ll have to give me a tour.”

“Oh, do I? Of the bedrooms?”

Stiles choked on his laugh, barking like a dying seal, and then coughed for real. “Hecking heck. I don’t know if I can handle sassy-weekend-Derek.”

“I have faith you can handle anything I give you.”

He rolled down the window without hesitating, not bothering to act casual while he was trapped in confined space with an Alpha who could potentially smell what was happening to him at that moment. He dared a glance from the corner of his eye and swore he almost saw Derek’s lips compressing in the barest hint of a smirk. Trying to will the heat out of his cheeks, Stiles busied himself with poking through Derek’s phone and looked down determinedly, resolutely refusing to actually look directly at him.

“Sherlocked. You put a password on your photos,” he grumbled. “C’mon, that’s where the real incriminating stuff is.”

“There’s not much there, but you’re welcome to guess. There is Tetris though.”

“Fuck your Tetris,” he growled under his breath. As Derek drove in silence, Stiles kept on stretching the limits of his imagination trying to figure out what the password could be, knowing it would be impossible anyways. The phone’s vibration response of his continued failure was going to make his hand numb.

“Give me a hint.”

“No hint. When you figure it out, you’ll realize you’d never needed one.”

Stiles scoffed and made mocking noises. “Oooh, I’m a big bad emo Alpha, I’m all dark and cryptic, look at me. C’mon, man, you know I’ll never guess. Take pity on me.”

The car came to a stop and a large hand was taking the little black device from him before he could react. Whatever the password was, it was close to a dozen characters and was entered too fast for Stiles to see any of them clearly. He snatched it back immediately and saw the final letter, a “w”, disappearing into a taunting little asterisk. Well, that narrowed it down to only a gazillion possibilities. 

“We’re here, let’s go,” Derek stated, turning off the ignition as he opened the door to step out.

“No, you can’t just--! No! Hey!”

“Let’s go!” came the sharply barked response from outside the car.

Stiles was trying to scroll through the thumbnails as fast as possible while gathering his stuff around himself, but there wasn’t much more than photos of notes and documents. Screencaps of news articles or Wikipedia entries flew by. Derek opened the passenger door just as he saw flashes of actual color and hints of faces. “No, it’s not fair!”

“Fair is irrelevant.” The phone was taken from him again.

“Meanest Alpha ever.”

“Without a doubt,” Derek agreed breezily.

Stiles stood, only to be grabbed again by the shoulders and pulled off balance. Derek had taken a selfie before he could even gasp over the fact Derek knew what a selfie even was.

“Delete that!” Stiles commanded instantly, flailing to get himself put back together.

“It’s gonna be my lock screen if you don’t hurry up.”

Stiles huffed his way back into the same damn coffee shop he’d just left less than a half hour before, trailing after the heels of this crazy Twilight Zone version of his boss that had a little sister and let Stiles choose the music and let him play with his unlocked phone and took a spontaneous selfie with him. Stiles lost his footing a bit as he stepped wrong on a loose pile of gravel and swayed sideways towards the side of the building as he made his way up the familiar alleyway to the front of the coffee roasters. Derek paused and turned back to check on him with a hint of a concerned look.

Stiles wished he hadn’t seen that look. It made his stomach do weird things. Weirder than usual. This was not okay.

“The meanest,” Stiles repeated to himself, mostly as a reminder. Whatever was happening, he should be worried. Derek Hale didn’t take selfies. Or wear sweaters. Or go to coffee shops. The real Derek Hale slept in his suit like a corpse and woke up in it like it was just ironed and probably only ate medium rare steak and potatoes that never touched and chased it down with some obscure Mad Men drink served to him by a statuesque lingerie model.

Twilight Zone Derek waited and held the door for him. Stiles gave him a purposefully suspicious look as he passed and didn’t thank him for the gesture.

“Welcome back, Stiles!” Allison said perkily from behind the counter, hand on a gleaming silver machine that was making hissing sounds. “I thought you had to go to work?”

“I did, er, I am? Allison, this is my boss, Derek Hale.”

Derek’s arm slipped easily around his shoulders and held tight.

Stiles knew he was being slightly distracted by the heat of Derek pressed so close, but he could tell something weird was happening instantly. Under normal circumstances, werewolves liked to be physically close to each other – Stiles and Scott were rarely more than a few feet from one another when they were in the shared spaces in their apartment – but that wasn’t the baseline with Derek. Stiles glanced up and saw what might have been anxiety flash quickly across his usually neutral face, but only barely so. So barely that someone who didn’t spend hours every day watching him like a fucking creeper might not notice.

Allison’s face was equally inscrutable, but Stiles couldn’t pretend to know her well enough to figure that out. All he could see was that her usually friendly and open expression became pinched. Something was definitely up. “Uh, Dad?”

An athletic older man with graying blond hair and the same narrow features as Allison approached from the back, wiping his hands on a white dishtowel. He’d seen Chris Argent a few times before in passing but had only interacted with Allison or the other assortment of baristas for obvious reasons. “Derek? Surprised to see you here.”

Derek leaned over the counter to shake Allison’s father’s hand, not letting his grip on Stiles’ shoulders fall. That was an important detail Stiles wasn’t going to forget until he figured out what was going on. “Chris. It’s been a long time. How are you? How’s Victoria?”

“Well, very well, thank you for asking. Victoria is Superintendent now. What brings you to this end of town? Is everything all right?”

“Everything is great, Chris. Stiles was telling me how amazing this place was, I had to come check it out. I had no idea this was your shop.”

“Yeah, we’ve had this place for a few months now. What can we get you? Anything you want, Allison will make sure it’s on the house.”

“I appreciate that. In the meantime, I’d love a tour. I want to order a hundred and fifty single pound bags to be shipped. Are you in a position to accommodate?”

A pleased sort of surprise registered on his rugged face. Stiles would be lying if he hadn’t idly cast eyes at the older man the few times he’d seen him. Fortunately for everyone, the creepiness he felt at perving on his best friend’s almost-girlfriend’s dad kept him in check. “Yeah, come on back.”

“Stiles, be a doll, would you? You know what I like.”

Derek’s warm hand was suddenly gone, and he was disappearing around the counter with Stiles only gazing wistfully after him, feeling dazed, the little warm fuzzies still bouncing happily around inside him. He was broken from his tender, pondering reverie as a fist collided with his arm.

“Bad touch!” he barked at Scott, who was glowering beside him.

“What the hell?” Scott demanded. “Are you working on or on a date? Who was that? Was that Derek Hale? How does he know the Argents?”

Allison had mysteriously disappeared, the other barista handling the handful of customers lingering at the counter nearby. Chris and Derek had disappeared into to the depths of the shop, presumably to the other end of the building where the actual roasting happened.

“Why are you even still here?”

“Because I was about to leave right when you came in. What’s going on, dude?”

“Gotta get the bossman coffee,” he said, as if that was an actual explanation and not a piss poor deflection. “I need to get in line before it’s out the door. Nothing is going on, everything is fine, okay? Just trust me. It’s fine. I’ll see you later, all right?”

Scott glowered, his lips compressing with disapproval, but finally made a grumbling noise about needing to go to the gym anyways. Small blessings.

Stiles had been waiting for nearly twenty minutes before Derek and Chris returned to the front of house. Allison reappeared with them and set about entering something that seemed overly complicated in the cash register. Stiles approached as she spun the little screen around for Derek to sign, and he was able to see the total was over four thousand dollars. The tip Derek entered was for the exact same amount. Chris had come around the counter alongside him, and the two exchanged a silent handshake that lasted six seconds too long, as if they were lingering over words unspoken. Stiles was ready to scream. Finally, they exchanged practically identical half-smiles like it was some sort of secret code and Chris went back to work.

“But you can’t buy a brownstone?” Stiles teased lightly at his shoulder, passing Derek his Long Black to get his attention.

“These are corporate holiday gifts. Thank you, Allison.”

Allison wordlessly watched them exit, a perfectly practiced polite-barista smile on her face.

They stood on the curb together for a minute in silence. There were a few pedestrians meandering about, but nobody sat on the patio in the brisk September chill, still too early in the season and too abrupt a change from summer for anyone to have gotten used to the cold yet. Stiles nosed into his scarf and buried his hands in his pockets but remained content to linger.

“They use beans that are genetically modified to appeal to werewolves,” Derek offered. “That’s why you smelled so good.”

“Blame it on the beans if you want, I know I’m so delicious you want to huff and puff and eat me right up.”

Derek didn’t respond and took a long drink of his coffee. “We need to go research some public records today.”

“Ah. So, this is a date, then.”

It was comforting when Derek didn’t respond. It had been too weird a day and Stiles wasn’t sure he could handle much more of Twilight Zone Nice Guy Derek.

**

Stiles awoke with a gasp. It had been that dream. _The bandaged man, a demon inside a vaguely human shape, his mouth rows of sharp devouring teeth that could swallow him down to an unrelenting void. The foxes, made of light, unable or unwilling to protect him._ He thought he had outgrown that dream.

His phone was already in his hand. He fumbled to unlock it despite the shaking, but then was startled by the buzzing of an incoming call.

“Are you okay?” was the greeting on the other side of the line.

_Better now. _Stiles could only breathe for a moment. “I’m okay,” he finally whispered. He reached a hand out to the other side of the bed, knowing there was no warmth there, but needing to pretend.

“I was just in bed reading. I found a collection of dystopian short stories by some really prominent authors. I read one last night I thought you’d really enjoy. It’s by Jack McDevitt, have you heard of him? Do you want me to read it to you?”

The icy hand that clenched Stiles’ lungs began to ease, soothed away by the deep voice that brought stillness to even the most chaotic parts of him. He must have made some noise of consent, because Derek continued to speak softly as he rustled pages, narrating his actions as he bookmarked his place with a blank index card and was trying to find the page he wanted, mentioning how intensely George R. R. Martin had George R. R. Martin’ed his contribution to the collection, and how that was certainly not a story he ever wanted to read again.

Later, Stiles might wonder how Derek had known Stiles needed to hear his voice, how he knew that he’d been handed a silence that Stiles could no longer bear to carry and needed it filled with words, any words. He might wonder how Derek had known to call in the first place, but at that dark moment, he just needed to take it for granted that someone was there… and had chosen to be there.

And it wasn’t the first time, either.

When he was finally lulled back to sleep, the phone was still on the pillow beside him, his hand outstretched to the other side of the bed.


	3. Chapter 3

Derek was just hanging up his coat when Stiles came in with their coffees, meaning his Monday standup meeting had run later than usual. He was about to make a particularly clever joke about his puppy cuddle puddle, but the motion of the heavy fabric filled the room with the smell he couldn’t ignore.

“You stink like Jackson,” Stiles said accusingly.

Derek levelled him with an even look but did not respond.

“Come on, Big Bad. Even wolves understand normative social cues. Don’t make me spell it out.” Still nothing. “Okay. _Why_ do you smell like Jackson?”

He seemed to consider the question for a long moment. “We went to a preserve last night. We just got back.”

Hot anger flashed behind his eyes before he could stamp it down. “Wha-why? You and Jackson? But he’s a total ass-turd.”

“You do realize he’s standing right behind you?”

Stiles whipped around immediately, throwing himself off balance as he brought his shoulders up to protect his delicate neck, but nothing was behind him except the doorway to Derek’s office, still closed.

Derek’s quiet bark of laughter surprised him as he clasped his shoulders from behind, steadying him as he stumbled. They were hot even through Stiles’ jersey blazer but fell quickly away. “Jackson has a lot of promise. I wrote him off once, and he’s worked hard to prove himself again. He’s come a long way.”

Stiles had stilled under Derek’s touch, but his heart was pounding to get out of his ribcage even after his hands had been removed.

“Did you kill lots of rabbits?”

“Six,” he said with some measure of pride. “And a badger.”

Stiles was afraid if he moved, Derek would step back and disappear. God, how was he getting so stupid? His chest was just barely brushing against Stiles’ back, so close it would take only a gentle sway to lean into it.

Stiles couldn’t stifle his gasp when Derek’s hand traced down the length of his arm, just barely brushing his sleeve, and… took the coffee easily from his hand.

“That’s mine,” he said weakly. “They’re both mine. You don’t deserve any coffee.”

“Not even for six rabbits?”

“I’m not sure I can rely on an Alpha who can’t provide at least eight. How can I feed my pups with just six rabbits?”

“And a badger.”

“That badger is only fit for a stew and you know it.”

Derek’s voice was closer to his ear. “Don’t be jealous of Jackson.”

“I’m not. I’m just afraid his douche-hole-ness will rub off on you and you’ll be even more incorrigible.”

“It might. But, he will be here in about ten minutes for a meeting, and I expect you to be civil.”

“No.”

“Yes, Stiles. He’s a good Beta.”

“He’s a—”

“Don’t be jealous,” Derek whispered, now directly at his ear. Stiles realized his voice had been getting softer and softer. His carefully trimmed beard just barely brushed against his neck. “Isn’t it that ‘You can only be jealous of someone who has something you think you ought to have yourself’? If you want to go to the preserve with me, all you have to do is ask.”

“Omegas don’t do preserves, you ass. I’d be lucky to trip on a dead gopher.”

Derek’s breath was soft on his neck. His voice was just barely audible. “I would still be very proud of you. But, maybe, if it’s not the preserve, it’s something else…?”

Stiles sighed. Something tight unraveled inside his ribcage. He swayed back like it was the most natural thing in the world and let his Alpha’s broad chest support him. He expected the butterflies in his stomach would have exploded against his guts like atom bombs, but instead it was just the feeling of warmth and calm and security, like coming home and sinking into his favorite spot on the couch after a long day...

“Oh, Christ, you’re doing an Alpha thing,” Stiles suddenly realized, jumping away and spinning to face him. “That’s not fair!”

Derek tipped his coffee in a mocking salute, took a long sip, and retreated into his office with a disgustingly smug smirk that Stiles wanted to smack right off his godawful disgustingly smug handsome face. Without the physical contact, all the springs and tension wires that held up Stiles’ fragile emotional state all snapped back into place and started spinning full tilt. His heartbeat pounded loud in his ears and he practically stomped back behind his desk and threw himself into his chair.

“Fucking… fuck… fuck,” he bit out irritably, waking up his computer. “My emotions are fucking beautiful, delicate blossoms to be treasured as fuck, they don’t need to be Alpha’ed into submission.”

There was no response, but Stiles could picture his smug look, and that just made it worse.

**

Stiles watched with extreme displeasure as Jackson strolled in without even a glance towards Stiles’ desk, just waltzing his way into Derek’s office and closing the door behind him like he owned the damn place. Stiles’ leg was bouncing, heel striking the floor in the way he wanted to be hitting something with his fists. He was not doing well with this.

He poked at his to-do list, his email, his inter-office chat system, his phone, his post it pad, but his mind kept going back towards Jackson and Derek having a merry ol’ time together in a preserve. Stiles had never even so much as seen a picture of Derek in shift, and Jackson got to run with him, and probably didn’t even appreciate it for a second. That wasn’t even fair.

The phone rang beside him, interrupting and derailing his grouchy thoughts. The caller ID read that it was one of his favorite clients. He greeted her pleasantly. She needed to ask Derek a few high-priority questions before she went into a company-wide meeting, and was he available? 

Stiles smirked. “Of course, Peta-Gaye. He’s in a meeting now, but it’s interruptible. Hold on just a few for me, okay?” With a deft movement, he put her on hold and beeped into the intercom. “Peta-Gaye on line one for you, boss,” he said without preamble.

A sigh and a snicker greeted him simultaneously. “Stiles, you know better than this. I’m disappointed in your behavior.”

“Can’t control your Omega?” Jackson asked mockingly.

Stiles felt Derek’s pause like it was a lead weight. “Jackson. What exactly is this idea you have in your head about Omegas?”

There was no response. Stiles didn’t realize he was holding his breath until his chest lurched trying to force it out. He could practically feel Jackson fidgeting uncomfortably and averting his gaze.

“You need to understand that while it’s a stereotype that the Omega can be a master manipulator, it’s only because when that is true, that’s their job. Sometimes it’s how they stay alive. More so, it’s crucial for healthy pack dynamics, and it doesn’t have to be a negative quality to have. I want to talk more about this later, because these archaic misapprehensions you have can be damaging. In the meantime, I’m going to send you two LinkedIn connections.

“The first, you are to ask about her experiences having to balance three different Omega influences who were all in conflict with each other, and how the situation was resolved. The second, you will ask about when a clique of Omegas in her workplace attached themselves to high ranking Betas and the consequences of this. I expect you to ask smart questions and will treat them with the respect they deserve, and I suggest you take them each out to lunch. I do not want to see you until you’ve spoken to both of them and had time to really think about what they tell you. You are excused from the morning stand up meetings until then.

“Stiles, please tell Peta-Gaye to stay on hold for two more minutes and I’ll be happy to have a touch-base with her.”

He snapped to attention and switched to the line, relaying the message without waiting for a response. He watched with rapt attention as Jackson slunk from Derek’s office to the hallway, not even glancing in Stiles’ direction. His mouth was pressed thin, and he seemed somehow smaller than usual.

Stiles sat silently, nervous energy racing through his limbs. He wanted to call after Jackson but had no idea what he would say if he did. Instead, he stared at the red light on his phone, bouncing both his legs and digesting the information he’d just heard, until the little light turned to green as Derek picked it up on the other side of their dividing wall.

Good Lord, he was an idiot. He didn’t mean to manipulate anyone, he just… Jackson just put him so much on edge he wanted to lash out. He should have controlled himself, and he could have. The impulse was just too strong.

The light disappeared from his phone before he was ready as Derek hung up the line, but no immediate summons came. There was only silence from Derek’s office that continued and stretched on for the next ten minutes. No reprimands, no disappointed statements about letting him down, just Stiles twisting in the wind.

He finally worked up the guts to go in himself of his own volition. He entered without knocking, and then immediately regretted it, but Derek just calmly turned from his monitor to give him his undivided attention.

Stiles tried an apology, but the words died before they left his mouth. He crossed his arms and investigated the pattern on the carpet, attempting to try again. “Can I come sit?” he asked instead.

Derek’s expression softened. “Yes, Stiles. Come sit.”

Stiles skirted around the desk, warmth creeping up to this face. As he settled in, he realized he forgot to bring anything to entertain himself. His phone was still on his desk, but he wasn’t about to go zooming around when he already felt like he was on his boss’s shit list. After a moment of agonizing indecision, Derek caught his attention as he took something from a drawer and handed it back to him.

“Shel Silverstein!”

“I figured this was twisted enough to have been a favorite of yours as a pup.”

“Heck yeah! This guy is so messed up, I loved it! Wait… Oh my god. Is this his real signature?”

“Could be. I picked it up at a used bookstore.”

Stiles was dumbstruck by the idea of Derek doing something so pedestrian as going into a bookstore. But not just going into a bookstore… going in and seeing something that made him think of Stiles, lingering and turning it over in his hands… “Thank you,” he said quietly.

Derek glanced slightly over his shoulder towards him. “I’m not mad at you.”

He looked away uncomfortably. 

“I already told you how I felt, so there’s no sense rubbing your nose in it. Besides, I believe that you’ve learned from the experience, haven’t you, Stiles?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

Derek’s back stiffened like he had been struck. Stiles’ mind was preoccupied for a brief, glorious moment as he opened the book with giddy anticipation, before the realization of what he had said suddenly with his actual out loud voice crashed down on him and shock set in. Something had somehow slipped out of that deep, dark, secret place he had pushed way, way deep down inside of himself and there was no leashing it back in.

The silence weighed heavy between them. Derek refusing to look back at Stiles, Stiles refusing to look away. Maybe he should run? Like, forever. Like, Forrest Gump it the hell out of there. Or, self-immolation? Was spontaneous combustion on the table?

“Stiles. Should I ignore that or acknowledge it?”

_No. Yes. Both. Neither. Combust, combust, combust. _

With slow, deliberate movements, Derek laid his palms flat on the desk and spread his fingers wide. His claws were extended. He drew in a deep breath. _Shit, shit, shit_. “You can’t keep doing this to me, Stiles.” 

He was suddenly reminded of those Choose Your Own Adventure books. He wished he could have looked ahead to see if choosing, “_But I want to climb you like a tree,_” would land him in the sexy sex-beast’s sexy sex-lair or the unemployment line in the mystical Land of Fired-for-sexually-harassing-his-boss.

“I’m not… I’m not doing anything.”

“I know.” His voice was soft and distant, and Stiles wasn’t sure why he felt so gross inside, all tied up in greasy knots of shame and guilt. “Let’s take an early lunch.”

Stiles could practically hear the eggshells Derek had to walk on just to leave the room.

** 

The rest of the week had been quiet and miserable. His heat cycle started perfectly on time like clockwork, but with symptoms far worse than they had been in a long time, and he took that Thursday off – his first sick day since working for Derek, but Derek hadn’t said a word of complaint. A huge bouquet of sunflowers that was waiting for him in the office when he returned helped replace some of the brightness that he was missing from the shorter autumn days, but even the lavish display didn’t help the dark mood he’d cast himself in.

Jackson must have been allowed to return from his exile, because his Polo cologne was the first thing Stiles smelled when he came back on Friday. While he didn’t see him, just the knowledge that he was lurking around again further exacerbated Stiles’ grumpy mood.

Derek had kept mostly to himself, though his calendar was more meetings and conference calls than actual time in his office. Stiles had always enjoyed the hustle and bustle of those weeks, and Derek used to often let him tag along to take notes or be generally helpful in whatever way he could. This week, Derek had just gone everywhere without him, and it had just stretched out the hours longer, made his research projects and reports seem less exciting and less impactful than usual. His job suddenly felt like work, for the first time since he’d started. It was agonizing.

It was barely after lunch when Derek came out of his office, a black scarf artfully tied to match his smart-looking black peacoat. “I have a meeting downtown this afternoon,” Derek explained. “I won’t have time to come back to the office. I know that you’ve had a very difficult week. Is there anything you want to talk about?”

“Nothing I can think of. Big date tonight?”

He seemed to brighten imperceptibly but reigned himself in quickly. “Not a date, but I do have plans.”

“Lucky.” Stiles turned back to his computer in dismissal.

“Listen, Stiles. I’m going to send you an address. You can come if you want, but I don’t want you to feel obligated. I just think it’ll be a really big help for you right now. You can arrive at six, if you decide you want some company.”

“What it is? An Omega support group? Like an itty-bitty pissy-kitty-committee?”

“You can be a pissy kitty if you want. That’s your prerogative. But there will be free dinner. I even heard there might be a chance of Klondike bars.”

He perked up. “How much of a chance? Like, percentage wise?”

Derek smirked and looked silently at him for a lingering moment, just long enough for heat to start creeping into Stiles’ cheeks. “I look forward to you finding out,” he finally answered. 

His phone pulsed twice and gave a chirp after about five minutes; just enough time for Derek to leave the building and get to his car.

Immediately searching the address Derek had sent him, it came up with a building that wasn’t even on a street view map. From the aerial map, it looked like a warehouse, set back by the river in a mass of other nondescript buildings. Murder shack? Stiles was definitely leaning towards murder shack. Did mobsters still put concrete boots on people? That sounded like a real thing. Yeah, probably had to be close to the docks for that one. Made sense.

Yet, just a few short hours later, he still found his rideshare pulling up to a surprisingly non-shady parking lot with average, normal looking cars. Not a black limo with tinted windows guarded by men with black suits and tommy guns in sight. The area seemed to be warehouses currently in the process of being reclaimed into art studios and office buildings with swanky lofts above them. He’d seen areas like this before but hadn’t known there was one up-and-coming right outside town. All except for the one he was entering, an ornate brick affair with crazy-tall windows on every floor and a heavy patinated bronze sign proclaiming it Triskelion Arts and Industry, seemed to be actively under construction.

The short hallway in and the elevator were quiet and empty as he ascended to the sixth floor as instructed in his text. The suite number he was looking for was immediately in front of the elevator as he exited, and he finally began to hear signs of life. It sounded like a party.

Stiles lingered in the hall. He brought out his phone awkwardly, fiddling with it. No missed calls, no missed texts, nothing to give him an excuse to maybe turn around and not go in… until the door opened. Of course, someone had heard him.

He didn’t recognize Erica at first. She wasn’t weaponized in her usual black and red wardrobe, no stilettos that could puncture a carotid artery and no wings drawn on her eyes so sharp that could cut a man’s throat. She was just wearing a pair of acid-washed skinny jeans with a cropped sweater that still managed to expose less skin than most of her professional outfits. She seemed just as surprised to see him.

Stiles had already changed as well, just into jeans and a hoodie, but he imagined she had the same response. It was kind of unsettling to see each other in something less than business appropriate. He could even see her socks. They didn’t have that level of friendship that would ever necessitate seeing each other wearing socks.

“Derek?” she called back, though her voice wasn’t loud enough to carry through the din of the noise behind her. 

He looked around Erica’s shoulder to see what looked like a huge, expensive-looking loft, filled with at least over a dozen people of all ages. A group of three pre-teens were laying on a plush round carpet in the corner with their homework spread out around them, four older adults, maybe their grandparents, were drinking wine on classy wooden lounge chairs by the enormous open windows, with even more in late-teen to middle-age clusters between those two areas. Huge sectional couches made an entertainment area that looked like it could host a movie night for two dozen. It was cozy in that luxurious and artfully purposeful way that only money could provide. In a magazine, it would have gotten a two-page spread all to itself.

Derek appeared in the entrance way to a kitchen that opened into the huge living room via an enormous wooden butcher block serving counter. He had also changed, into a plain heathered gray tee shirt with dark jeans. He was beyond shocked to see that Derek’s entire left arm down to his wrist was completely covered in geometric patterns, with complex interwoven lines and bands of runes. How had Derek had a full sleeve this whole time and Stiles had never had any idea? His brain made a tiny popping noise and fizzled out completely.

_Oh fuck._

Stiles was almost equally shocked to see he was barefoot; he wasn’t sure he could handle seeing all these different facets of a person he was already too obsessed with. Isaac was twined around his waist, tucked under one of his powerful arms and peering out at Stiles unabashedly.

Stiles suddenly realized that all of the people within the room were all intensely close with each other in the casually comfortable way that only wolves seemed to congregate. The preteens were laying hip to hip, the older adults sitting two to a chair. They were all Betas.

Erica let him slowly step in and closed the door firmly behind him. There was a subtle hush in the conversation that allowed him to hear the sounds of a busy kitchen on the other side of the room. He felt like every single pair of eyes on the place had focused directly on him.

Derek smiled without any hint of his usual smirk. Just an honest, pleased, open smile. Stiles was done for. “Everyone, this is Stiles, my research assistant at work. Stiles make yourself comfortable. Dinner is coming soon.”

“Derek and Boyd are making paella,” Erica offered, still standing next to him, arms crossed. She still seemed wary of his presence. “I take it he finally invited you. Shoes there, bag there.”

He complied to her commands immediately, nodding dumbly. “What is this place?”

Erica rolled her eyes and shook her head, turning away towards the couch. He followed her, not knowing what else to do.

“You really don’t know?” she asked, flopping down on a section of the couch near the pre-teens, who were trying not to appear like they were listening in, but were way too obvious about it.

“He just said there’d be free food and I showed up. You really think I’d ask more questions than that?”

She let a thin smile slip from beneath her hard-ass veneer. “It’s our pack dinner, idiot. It happens almost every week.” She paused. “Derek says you can sit in the kitchen if you want. Something about me scaring you away. Do I scare you, sweet little smoochy puppy?”

Ah, there was the Erica he knew. “You wish you could smooch on this puppy,” he grumbled, but still immediately booked it for the kitchen. He saw that the other side of the cavernous loft boasted a line of tables pushed together that could have accommodated dozens of people. A trio of pretty young women who might have been sisters were setting out place settings and chatting. There were eighteen place settings. 

Derek stood with Isaac still tucked close against him at the counter, peeling carrots into a large metal bowl full of compost scraps. They were talking quietly about something Stiles couldn’t hear over the general din of a busy kitchen.

Stiles slid onto one of the bar stools, not surprised to see there were only men in the kitchen. Boyd was in an animated conversation with a broad-shouldered lumbersexual-looking man about fantasy football, the two of them working over two large woks. He looked like he was in his element.

As Derek turned to grab a mandolin, Isaac slid easily away to attach himself to a tall, lanky man behind the huge counter, like the floor was lava and cuddles were the only way to survive. Stiles found himself toying with the idea of being jealous, but it was somehow not sticking. The man wrapped Isaac up like a living blanket and pressed his face into the crook of his neck for a brief moment. Isaac was positively glowing. _Cuddleslut_.

“Alpha, we’re stuck again.” He was joined on the barstool besides him – despite there being plenty of other choices that weren’t directly against his shoulder – by a frustrated looking girl with a hand knit sweater and tight box braids. She plopped down an open textbook and notebook filled with unintelligible scrawls in two different color inks.

“What are you working on?” Stiles asked curiously.

“Algebra II, but it’s stupid.”

“It’s not stupid, it’s fun once you get it. Like number puzzles.”

“That’s what Alpha keeps saying,” she complained with a roll of her eyes. “But there are four different ways to do it and you have to figure out which way it is before you can even start.”

“Okay. Can you teach me the different ways and then we’ll figure it out together?”

Her sigh bespoke of burdens heavier than her poor pubescent soul was ready to carry, but then acquiesced. “Yeah, I think so. Come on then.”

Stiles glanced to Derek, making sure it was okay to trail after the girl and that it wasn’t super creepy of him, but Derek was resolutely staring down at his task. Wait… was he smiling? Like, for real?

He didn’t get to see for sure because Isaac had sidled up again and demanded some scent marking in the few seconds of hesitation before Stiles turned to follow the pup.

“You’re new,” said a boy of about fourteen when he sat down. He was fine-boned and what could only be described as pretty, with thick, dark coils that fell more in his eyes than seemed practical. This boy was probably already lots of trouble for lots of people.

“Yeah, I am,” Stiles admitted easily as he laid on his belly on the plush white throw rug. “You guys do this every week, right?”

“Not all of us come every single week. There’s a bunch more pack than this. You kinda smell like pack, but you’re not, are you?”

“I work with Derek,” he explained. “I probably smell like him because we work together.”

“Which work?” their companion, another girl, asked. She had a long essay she was scrawling her way through.

Stiles blinked owlishly at her. “He has more than one?”

“Bunches. And he does pack mediation on the weekends,” the boy said dismissively. “But he has emissaries for assistants. So, since you’re an Omega, I’m guessing if you’re an assistant, it must be his day job.”

“Oh, yeah, you meant his volunteer work? Yeah, I work at his day job.”

“Okay, Stiles, focus!” barked the girl who’d initially lured him over. “Listen, I have to teach you this stuff, and we only have like a half hour before dinner. C’mon!”

“Yeah, definitely.”

Under the guise of teaching it to Stiles, the two kids in Algebra II, Az and Coolidge as he found out their names were, inadvertently figured all of the problems out themselves. The girl acknowledged that he was almost as good a tutor as Derek, maybe, but not quite. It was probably the best compliment he could hope to get.

Boyd had made two enormous paella dishes, one classic and one vegetarian. The idea of a vegetarian werewolf always struck him as ludicrous, and he was about to let a joke slip before he saw Derek walking to the table with two plates laden with artichoke hearts and roasted red peppers, handing one to him casually. He felt eyes on him as he accepted the dish silently, his cheeks growing hot. Oh god, an Alpha just handed him food... In front of other wolves… he was not prepared.

“This one is better,” Derek assured him quietly, as if he knew what Stiles had been thinking and had rescued him from himself.

Over the course of dinner, seated four people away from Derek and between two strangers, he learned that this wasn’t Derek’s apartment, that it was built specifically to be a multi-purpose pack den, and that he actually lived upstairs in the penthouse loft. Other people lived there too, in apartments on the upper floors, with art galleries and studios and offices below them. More investors had been following Derek’s example and rehabilitating the other old factories, which used to be paper and dye mills, into similar situations. Someone had heard that the next building over was even going to have grocery and retail space, which would open even more opportunities for the supernatural community. It created an excited buzz.

The excitement was infectious, and Stiles felt better than he had in…. months. Years. As an Omega he craved the safety and security of a pack, but this pack had something so beyond that. He was asked questions about himself by people who seemed genuinely interested in his answers. The love in this pack was a tangible thing that wrapped his wolf in a maternal hug that he didn’t know he’d needed so desperately.

Stiles found himself sad when it was over. The transition happened naturally, and it became a collective effort to clear the table and set the space back to rights. Everybody was pitching in, except for Boyd, who seemed to be allowed the chef’s privilege of relaxing with his dessert while everyone bustled with activity around him. He was chatting quietly with Erica until Derek came over and rubbed their shoulders from behind. “No work in here,” he reminded them chidingly.

“I think we’ll call it a night anyways,” Erica replied cheekily, sliding easily under his arm and giving her Alpha a hug. “We can finish our talk on the drive back to Boyd’s place.”

Boyd’s eyebrows twitched, then he was suddenly gone, bringing his ice cream treat with him as he kicked around for his boots in the pile by the door. Erica cackled and followed.

Derek shared a conspiratorial smile with Stiles before picking up some leftover cups. Stiles did the same, grabbing indiscriminately at things left on the table and carrying them over to the kids at the dishwasher.

People filtered out slowly, everybody interested in having one last chat with Derek, who installed himself by the door, offering a few hugs with scent markings before people left in couples and small groups. Stiles hesitated. He wasn’t sure if he was allowed to stay, or if he even should.

They were left alone suddenly. Stiles thought there were still more people to leave, and he was nervously hovering near the door with his shoes and bag already on, wondering if he should probably slink out before the last of them left. His decision was made for him as the last exodus was a larger family that all went together.

Derek slid into the seat at the head of the table, looking all kinds of gorgeous, content and relaxed. Stiles lingered by the door, barely able to look at him, the image of casual tattooed weekend Derek still too at-odds with his business-formal weekday image for his poor brain to process.

“Thank you for inviting me,” he said awkwardly, not knowing what to do with himself.

“Thank you for coming,” Derek replied smoothly. “This was a good group for a first pack meeting. Everyone seemed to like you.”

“Coolidge said I already kinda smelled like pack,” he acknowledged. “But not all the way.”

“No, not all the way,” the Alpha agreed. “I suppose that leaves you to make a choice, doesn’t it?”

Stiles thought of Scott, who’d stayed with him, both of them packless, through high school and college. After both being snubbed by the local werewolf cliques their whole lives, they’d thought college would be different, but they had both been too busy to dedicate the time necessary to find a pack they both fit into. They’d again thought post-grad life would change somehow, that upon reaching adulthood they would find that magical social component that would make them less-nerdy and more-just-like-everyone-else, but they’d both been even busier than they’d been in school and somehow had even less free time to pursue a pack.

Before he’d met Derek, he hadn’t realized there was such an enormous and well-established pack right under their noses. Somehow, for all his brilliance, Stiles had just decided not to connect those dots.

Sometimes the emotional self-preservation against rejection was too strong.

“You should invite Scott the next time you come,” Derek said breezily, as if Stiles had been broadcasting his thoughts. “The two of you have been your own pack for a long time. You wouldn’t want to leave him behind now.”

“I’m not sure he likes you,” he admitted.

“He’ll be in good company,” Derek said with an easy grin. “Being an Alpha doesn’t mean I’m instantly loved by all. That would be too boring, anyways. ‘Where we all think alike, no one thinks very much.’”

“And here I just take it for granted that everyone worships me. It must be such a struggle for you.”

Derek smiled in earnest, transforming his face into pure sunshine. _Oh, shit. Oh, shit_, he was smiling and was too fucking gorgeous for words and it hurt. Stiles wasn’t sure if getting weak in the knees was a real thing or something that only happened in romcoms, but damn if gravity wasn’t suddenly increasing on him. “Should... should I go?” he asked weakly, more to himself than to Derek.

“Why _did_ you decide to come tonight, Stiles?” he asked, slowly rising to his feet. Stiles was reminded that Derek was barefoot and didn’t even dare to look down.

He shrugged. “Had nothing better to do. You said there was food.”

Derek didn’t stop until he was too close for comfort. Stiles jammed his hands into his hoodie pocket and instinctively looked away, showing the side of his neck.

“I think that maybe you just wanted to show Daddy what a good boy you could be?”

Stiles froze, the air sucked from his lungs like he’d had the wind knocked right out of him.

Derek moved closer, inches from him, the tip of his nose a ghost along the exposed column of his neck.

He knew the smell of his arousal was rolling off him like a tangible thing, but he was way past the point of controlling that. Goosebumps were rising over his entire body, a chill seeping into him from all those little dancing nerve endings jittering along his skin. He couldn’t stop shivering as he heard the movement in Derek’s mouth as his fangs slid down.

“You were so, so good tonight. On your best behavior, sweet and polite and charming.”

Derek’s breath was hot on his neck and Stiles leaned in closer, seeking more of that warmth.

“Are you my good boy, Stiles?”

Stiles whimpered aloud. If his suppressants didn’t make it so difficult to get himself slick, he couldn’t imagine what condition he’d be in. As it was, the roughness in Derek’s voice was like an electric current thrumming through his whole body that had nothing to do with it being the second day of his heat cycle.

“Yes, Daddy,” he choked out, barely able to make his mouth function.

“What do you want your reward to be for being such a good boy tonight?”

_Your knot?_

“Your knot.”

_Shit._

Derek only smiled, the movement brushing his stubble against Stiles skin and sending another tremor down his body. “Do you want to go upstairs with me, sweetheart?”

His whole body shook. “Fuck, yes.”

“Then we better hurry while you’re still able to walk.”

All it took was a soft nudge and Stiles was practically running out the door and back to the elevator, diving to the button. Derek came after him slowly, his feet silent on the floor, rounding up on him from behind. Or maybe he just couldn’t hear him over the sound of his own heartbeat. Stiles remained still, watching the shadow of his reflection in the stainless steel. He saw a quick red flash of Derek’s eyes as he moved closer but didn’t touch him.

The door slid open and Stiles tumbled himself in, feeling Derek immediately on his heels behind him, still staying just out of view.

“Eighth floor,” he instructed. He guided Stiles’ hand to the button while his other hand slid around his chest, holding him with the lightest of touches. Stiles pressed the button while Derek’s hand circled loosely at his wrist. “All of my doors use a keypad lock. You’ll use the same combination as the one you use on your phone. It’s a master code and unlocks every coded door in the building.”

He knew he was barely thinking straight past the haze of want in his mind, but he registered that. “You know my phone lock?”

“You never stop playing with the damn thing,” he said chidingly. Derek’s fingers intertwined with his, and though under normal circumstances it could have been perfectly modest, the gesture locked Stiles’ breath in his thundering chest.

They were… holding hands. He was holding hands with Derek Hale. Alpha Hale. _With his hand_.

The door slid open after just a brief moment and Derek nudged him again. “To the left is the stairwell. Straight is roof access. The next is direct access to my home office. And at the end of the hall to the right is where you’re going to get fucked senseless.”

Stiles didn’t bother to pretend he wasn’t running.

He pressed the code into the metal keypad, because he could, and the lock clicked open as promised. Derek was immediately behind him, crowding him inside and shutting the door tightly. The light in the hallway disappeared and he was left in the pitch blackness of a cool, unfamiliar space.

Stiles dropped his bag where it seemed safe, relying on Derek to keep him from knocking into a priceless Ming vase or falling into a tiger pit, and toed off his shoes.

“Where to?” he asked, his voice a hoarse whisper.

Derek’s hand intertwined with his, and Stiles felt his heart stop. His feet almost didn’t work as Derek gave a gentle tug, but he stumbled inelegantly after him with a barking laugh. At least he could still laugh at himself, even when he felt like he was going to burst inside out from the fireworks happening inside his chest.

Stiles’ eyes began to adjust to the darkness, to find points of light. Green digital clocks hinted at a stove and microwave, almost in the same place as the pack’s space. A stack of soft white lights indicated a cable box or modem some many yards away. The air felt like it was another big, open floor plan.

Light spilled from within a doorway that appeared to his left. Derek had switched on a small lamp that would have normally barely cut through the darkness, but his eyes were already sensitive. Derek released his hand and he followed immediately into a neatly maintained bedroom, a huge king bed in the middle.

“Wait here,” Derek said, disappearing into a door off to the side. Stiles wanted to take the chance to linger over the details – the total lack of windows, the comforter so thick it looked like a cloud, monochromatic blankets draped over it, one nightstand stacked with books and notepads and pens, the other nearly bare – but he was back almost immediately. He returned with a handful of neatly folded washcloths, throwing some at the foot of the bed and some towards his nightstand.

Reality began to creep in around the edges of his awareness, and the thought that he was actually here – with Derek_ – his boss – _in Derek’s_ – his boss’s – _house _– _where Derek lived_ – where his boss lived _– hit him like a ton of bricks. He’d thought about this so much, but that was all fantasy, not planning, not rooted in any basis of reality. How was this supposed to happen for real?

Because what if it all went terribly? What if he was the worst lay in the history of sex? Would he be able to ever face Derek again in a professional setting, or would he have to quit a really, really good job in disgrace and shame and be left broken and doomed to eternal celibacy?

Derek’s eyebrows looked concerned. “Do you still want to be here?

“Ohmigod, yes, _yes_! I just don’t want to fuck it up.”

“So don’t,” Derek said, as if it were the simplest thing in the world, causing a laugh to squeeze its way out of Stiles’ chest. Derek’s hand came up and curled around the base of his skull, and Stiles swore he felt every single follicle of hair moving with the touch, sending jolts through his scalp and down his neck and shoulders like electricity. He whimpered, his hands fluttering uselessly around Derek’s waist, unsure what to do with himself.

“Um. I’m… uh… I’m on suppressants.” Stiles forced himself to just get through the embarrassment and get the words out so he could prevent even worse embarrassment later. “So, I don’t really get that wet…. Do you have...?”

“Lube? Yes. But I think we can take our time getting to that point, don’t you?”

Stiles sighed again as Derek’s fingers massaged into his scalp. He didn’t realize he’d been moving closer until his chest bumped softly against Derek’s. “I don’t know. If I cum in my pants, does it still count as sex?”

He smirked. “Can we start with kissing, maybe?”

“Yes! God! Like, why haven’t you yet?”

Derek’s eyebrows looked exasperated. “You need to tell me what you want.”

He stilled, suddenly realizing what he meant. Because, whether Stiles liked it or not, he was still an Omega, dealing with an Alpha. And Alphas were not really historically known for always acknowledging that consent existed and taking chemosignals as blanket permission. The realization was sobering. Derek must have been holding himself back to make sure that Stiles really was consenting entirely of his own free will, and not overstepping any lines until he was given permission. And he here was, being awkward and oblivious.

“Aww, ffffuck,” he hissed sharply in a whisper. “Sorry! Sorry. I’m sorry. Can we start over?”

A low growl resonated through the marrow inside his ribs that Stiles belatedly realized was a deep laugh. He looked up to see Derek’s face absolutely unlike anything he’d ever seen before, his pupils so wide that the pale sunrise colors of his eyes had all but disappeared, his lids heavy, his expression predatory and… _hungry_. He was looking at Stiles’ mouth like he was starving.

This was not a way that anybody had ever looked at _him_ before.

Instinctively needing to diffuse the seriousness of the situation, Stiles licked his thumb and dragged it across Derek’s shirt. Derek looked down at the motion in confusion. “Let’s get you out of those wet clothes, big guy.”

With a vague noise of acknowledgement, Derek stepped back to pull his t-shirt off and Stiles was pretty sure he had a near-death experience. Skin and muscles and tattoos, _oh my_.

He forced air out of his chest with a squeak. “Maybe… I don’t know, should we turn the light off again?”

“If you want to stop, at any time, you tell me. You don’t have to be here. I won’t make you do anything you don’t want to do. I won’t treat you any differently if you want to leave, do you understand?”

“Pff. Put me in the game, coach!”

Derek’s lips covered his, steady and determined. It was suddenly easy to forget how awkward it had been to get to that point. Stiles’ hands finally found purchase in the dip Derek’s spine, his arms instinctively circling his trim waist as he stepped closer. It was impossible to press in flush with their difference in height, forcing Stiles to change the angle of their kiss to allow his body to sway.

But Stiles’ brain was still going, ruminating already on things that had just happened, even while his mouth was occupied. His thoughts were nipping at his heels and keeping him from enjoying the moment. And he really, really, really wanted to enjoy that goddamn moment. He pulled back to look at Derek.

“You good?”

Stiles nodded. “You want to be here too, right? Cuz you kept asking me and…”

Derek’s half smile made his heart flutter. “Yes. I want to be here too,” he said.

Stiles swallowed hard. “Then pants off,” he urged, though he’d originally meant it to be more of a question.

He complied immediately, and Stiles’ head swam. Less at the exposure of even more muscles and skin and hair – and they both had black undies, that was a cute coincidence – and more the intoxicating realization he’d just told an Alpha what to do, and he’d listened. Oh, he could get dangerously used to that.

Derek moved back quickly, slipping back in for another kiss, maneuvering so Stiles’ arms went around his shoulders. He only hesitated a moment before he started pushing Stiles backwards. As his calves hit the side of the bed, Stiles let Derek take his weight as Derek tipped him backwards. In what must have been a demonstration of obscene core strength, he lowered down to the bed easily, as if there weren’t a Stiles-sized lodestone hanging around his neck. Once he was safely on his back, Stiles let his hands roam down Derek’s sides, his hands tracing the muscles against his ribs and the taut muscles of his waist, marveling at the shape of him.

Derek’s lips moved down the column of his neck, like he was chasing the rabbit of his pulse, and he hooked his fingers into the elastic of Stiles’ boxer briefs, peeking over the waistband of his jeans.

He suddenly felt like getting hit by a baseball bat directly to his nervous system. It was like his first heat all over again, being blinded with want, hard to the point of pain, desperate for any kind of relief and unable to control himself.

“Is this what you want, sweetheart?”

“Yes! C’mon, c’mon, off, off, off, now,” he urged desperately, lifting his hips to allow Derek to unbutton his jeans and slide them down over his thighs. He felt the elastic of his boxer briefs dragging over the underside of his cock, and he was suddenly curling in on himself, spurting thickly onto his stomach. Derek’s hand curled around his painfully hard dick, squeezing only just enough, easing him gently until he was spent. It hadn’t even felt like an actual orgasm, hadn’t felt like there was much pleasure at all associated with it, but he was suddenly more in control of his mental process, and immediately horrified.

Derek was reaching for one of the washcloths, conveniently nearby, without giving him a glance.

Stiles felt his flush over his entire face and chest. If there was ever a time he needed a sinkhole to open into the earth below him, this was it. He put both arms over his head and his hid face. “I swear to God, that’s never happened before.”

“It’s okay. Have you ever been with an Alpha during a heat?”

“You know I haven’t,” he grumbled, turning away to bury his face under his arm.

Derek wiped his stomach quickly and tossed it away before pulling his pants all the way off and leaving them on the floor. He came back up to straddle his thighs, looking down at him like he was dinner… Like he was just going to continue as if that never happened?

“I’m sorry,” he bit out.

“It’s not a big deal.” Derek’s hands roamed the expanse of Stiles’ chest, drifting softly over his hot skin.

Stiles laid naked and helpless below him, acutely aware that Derek was still wearing his underwear and he wasn’t. “God, I’m just so fucking awkward. I imagined this all very differently,” he mumbled with a disgruntled sigh.

“Okay. Tell me, then.”

He blinked, unsure how to answer, but realizing he had to. Embarrassment warred with his shame. He couldn’t even believe he had willingly admitted that he had imagined this before. He obviously wasn’t thinking properly. He also realized he was still hard, despite whatever had just happened with _that whole thing_.

Derek leaned down to nuzzle at his collarbone, putting his weight onto his elbows. “What do you imagine that I do to you? You have to tell me what you want so I can give it to you.”

Stiles struggled, trying to find more words, when he didn’t want to say anything. He just wanted Derek to _know_. To _do_.

“C’mon, baby,” he purred sweetly. “Tell Daddy what you want.”

“Um, your mouth – more – on me – everywhere.” The words stumbled out, crashing over each other, feeling nonsensical in his rush to get them all out. “You need to bite me - don’t hurt me, I don’t like pain – not a lot – but a lot at the right time – but no hitting, hard limit – oh but teeth – and your tongue, a lot – and you inside me - and I swear I would kill a man to suck you off - literally everything, I want everything.”

He was terrified he’d sounded intensely stupid until he felt Derek’s smile against his skin. “We can do everything.”

Everything seemed to click back together. It was like moving into the wingback chair behind Derek’s desk all over again, like things just figured themselves out. He exhaled with a soft laugh, and something that had been tight between his shoulders finally gave way. “Yeah, okay.”

“Do you need to cum again or do you think you can wait?”

“I can wait,” Stiles said readily. “It’s better now.”

Derek cupped his face and offered him one last, lingering kiss before he slid down his body, kneeling on the floor. His teeth skated along the inside of his thigh, making Stiles afraid that he’d just unknowingly told a lie. He took a deep breath, but it was immediately obvious Derek was going to bypass his cock entirely.

Stiles flipped himself instantly, without conscious thought, getting himself up on his knees in the space of a heartbeat. Derek made an approving noise and hooked his hands around Stiles’ thighs, pushing his face directly into Stiles’ ass without a second of hesitation. There was no time for self-consciousness or nervousness. He didn’t have to push through that moment of fear of someone else seeing him naked and exposed; the moment never happened.

Stiles might have been embarrassed by the wet and vulgar sounds if they hadn’t been accompanied by the ferocious groan of pleasure Derek was making in his throat. There was no subtlety, no gentle precursor like the landing of a butterfly on a flower, just Derek’s lips and tongue driving every thought from his mind.

His voice slowly became an unintelligible keening of pleading and begging, repeating Derek’s name over and over again, until it became nothing but a strangled, broken sound. His thighs were shaking.

He was so lost, the feeling of Derek’s tongue and mouth simultaneously not enough and too much. Stiles needed more but he felt like he would die if Derek stopped. He didn’t know when Derek’s fingers had joined in, only that it felt like he was going to explode if anything touched his cock, and he didn’t want it to be over.

Derek finally straightened, taking his mouth away, but still leaving two fingers inside him. It felt like it’d been an hour, even he knew that would have been impossible. There was some movement behind him, and he heard the distinctive click of a cap opening.

For a few seconds he just tried to wrest himself under control, to stop making the pathetic keening that bubbled from his throat, but he couldn’t control anything. Derek worked the lube into him, fingers continuously in motion, hitting every sensitive nerve ending he had with twisting, measured strokes.

“What do you want, sweetheart?” Derek’s voice barely reached him through his haze.

He expected a coherent answer? When all he could think about is the feeling of those long, nimble fingers inside of him, his other hand curled around his hip, his skin hot against his? How he just wanted it to never stop?

“You have to say it, baby. I have to hear it. You have to tell me that this is what you want.”

Stiles whined again. Where were those damn latent psychic abilities?

“Use your voice, I know you can.”

“I w-want you... ah fuck! I need your knot inside of me.” 

“Such an impatient, beautiful boy,” he murmured. “You still need to say please.” His talented fingers had started scissoring and twisting in a way that left Stiles gasping and trembling.

“Please, please, please….” It fell from his mouth easily in a litany, tumbling out beyond his control.

“That’s much better. We’re almost there, just hold out only a little bit longer for me, baby.”

Stiles whined impatiently but was only rewarded with another finger coated with what had to be another quarter cup of lube being worked into him. A sharp, icy chill ran from the soles of his feet up through his whole body. 

“Please, Daddy, please fuck me.”

Even though he’d been expecting it, the feeling of suddenly emptiness as he withdrew his fingers sent an immediate wave of panic though him. The sudden pang of sheer emptiness caused him to start to rise, turning, irrationally afraid he had done something wrong.

Derek shushed him, using his own weight to press him back down. The feeling of their bodies spooning together was an instant comfort, but not nearly enough.

“Please, don't stop,” he begged. “Please, fuck, do something, anything, please.”

Derek gave a soft growl, deep and velvety. A shiver ran up Stiles’ spine and shook him like a leaf.

This was still too good to be true. Stiles was suddenly overwhelmingly afraid the Alpha really would refuse, that he would pull away and disappear, leaving him shattered and wanting. That this was really all too amazing to be real. _This kind of stuff just didn’t happen to him_. But then that delicious burning that he already couldn't get enough of was spreading through him as Derek slid into him, achingly slow. A jolt went up his spine, echoing through his whole body, as he felt himself getting slick. His arms went out from under him and he dropped into the blankets.

“Yes, finally!”

“If only you could see yourself,” Derek purred against his skin. “So beautiful.”

Stiles tried to buck his hips and force more of that thick cock inside of him, but Derek was already wise to his tricks. He straightened, lifting his weight from Stiles’ back, and gripped his hips tightly instead.

“Not so fast,” he warned with an admonishing growl. “My dick is bigger than my fingers.”

“I can take it,” he promised. “I’m so wet, please.”

“Just be patient.”

Stiles shook his head, biting his lip and tightening his grip on the bunched-up blanket in his white-knuckled fists. He was so overwhelmed, so full of wanting and needing and it was too much, he couldn't do it, he couldn't contain everything inside of his skin.

He tried to buck back again, but Derek’s hold was too tight. He felt the bruises forming on his hipbones already.

“Shhh, sweetheart. Let Daddy enjoy this. You’re so pretty, I want to watch your pretty pink hole spreading open for me.”

“You can’t just say stuff like that,” he groaned breathlessly, pushing his face into the bed.

“You don’t like it?”

Stiles found in in him to laugh somehow, in a breathless way that turned into a groaning sigh, as Derek finally bottomed out inside of him, lingering there, letting Stiles adjust.

“There, wasn’t that worth the wait?” Derek purred, loosening his grip.

Stiles never thought he’d have to say it about Derek, of all people, but he was about ready for him to stop talking. The feeling of having an Alpha inside of him was blowing his tiny little mind and he really wanted to be there for it. Stiles had definitely had things in his ass before, many things, and if he wanted to admit, probably some things that shouldn’t have been put there, and he thought he was prepared.

But even the self-inflating knotting dildo he’d dropped triple digits on and all the solo knot play in the world couldn’t have prepared him for the actual experience of an actual Alpha, and he knew he would never be able to go back to the plastic experience. He’d forgotten how warm another person’s skin was, how hot it felt inside of him.

Said person didn’t seem to be aware of the tiny life-altering crisis happening in his mind, and had begun to rock gently, either getting Stiles used to the motion before really committing to it or really planning on making him beg for it.

“Motherfucker,” Stiles groaned at him with a half-sob, knowing which one it was.

“You’ll never get what you want if you keep that up,” Derek admonished gently.

“Do you come with a remote?”

Derek didn’t deign to respond or pick up the pace. He continued gently rocking, his hands stroking up the trembling muscles of his back.

Stiles gave an experimental push back and was rewarded by Derek meeting his thrust. Finally, Derek let him set the tempo, his hands never leaving his waist.

Still, Stiles was ready to vibrate out of his skin. He needed so much more. He was too close, and he felt the inescapable pressure of his heat building. “Please knot me, Daddy.”

Derek stilled. “Are you sure?”

“I’ll die if you don’t,” he insisted, pushing back hard against him. “C’mon, c’mon, c’mon….”

He snapped his hips sharply and Stiles pushed his face into the blankets to muffle his screams as Derek didn’t let up. Stiles was absolutely powerless to do anything except take it as he felt himself spiraling closer and closer to the edge.

“Just for you, sweetheart.”

Derek slammed hard into him, a snarl pulling from his throat as if it were against his will, jostling every joint and muscle in Stiles’ body from the force. Derek ground in, impossibly deep, and he felt the base of Derek’s gorgeous cock begin to swell inside of him. He kept grinding in, his hands tight, as if trying to gain one last quarter inch, stretching him as it expanded. He swore he could feel the cum pumping out of him, pulsing and filling him up, marking him indelibly deep inside his own body.

Stiles felt his body stretching and accommodating the swelling knot like it was made just for him. Finally, he was tumbling over the edge, shooting hard into the blanket, untouched. It felt like he was lined with fireworks, all blinding sparks and deafening gunpowder, flying apart beyond any control. 

They stayed perfectly still for what could have been either two minutes or two hours, except for the insistent pulsing of Derek’s knot, their breaths both loud and ragged in the sudden silence.

Derek nearly collapsed on top of him. His hands curled around Stiles’ shoulders, fingertips digging in, and then slowly slid down his biceps, eased around his elbows, smoothed over his forearms and wrists.

Derek intertwined their fingers, allowing Stiles to release his white-knuckle grip on the duvet cover. Something unnamable and confusing twisted inside of him, tightening in his throat, as Derek maneuvered his hands to tuck Stiles’ arms tight against the sides of his own ribcage. It felt as if Derek was surrounding him, holding him in, keeping him small and safe and warm and contained. It was such a small thing, but it was almost overwhelming. He pressed his eyes tightly shut, like that could keep everything buried deep inside him, way down deep where feelings like that belonged.

It was many long, satisfying moments before Derek's breathing returned to normal. Although Stiles had already decided he would have been more than happy remaining like that for the night, with his own wolfly weighted blanket, the Alpha rolled them slowly onto their sides, peeling his strong chest from Stiles’ sweat-slicked back as he untangled their fingers. Stiles whimpered at the loss of contact but was rewarded with a string of content sighs and gentle kisses along the slope of his shoulder, trailing up his neck to his ear, meandering to linger on each rise and dip of his spine.

The tenderness nearly undid him. Even while he tried to tell himself that it didn't mean anything – _it couldn't mean anything, he wasn’t even in Derek’s pack, it was just because of his heat cycle, Alphas just did this sort of thing with Omegas all the time_ – it let all those feelings bubble to the surface he wasn't ready to address. All those feelings about wanting something more, something more than just sex, more than just a thick gorgeous cock to ride off into the sunset - some connection he couldn't even give a name. Tears began to leak from his eyes and a sob pulled itself out of his throat.

He shook like a tiny leaf, trying not to cry, but broke as Derek reached up and stroked his hair gently, kissing his ear. “You’re such a good boy,” Derek whispered. “So perfect. You did such a good job.”

Stiles gathered the blanket and buried his face in it, muffling the whimpering noises he couldn’t stop making. Derek didn’t seem overly concerned, as if it were a perfectly natural response to have to cry for no goddamn reason after the most mind-blowing, life-altering, best sex of his life, and that he knew Stiles was going to work his way through it.

Derek pushed a washcloth he had produced from thin air into his hands. Stiles took it and hid his face again, but he was already winding down. His muscles started to relax as the tension drained out of him, quickly, until it was over suddenly. Just a necessary cathartic release.

He laid still, just breathing, matching his breath to Derek’s.

“I’m okay,” he whispered.

“You’re okay,” Derek confirmed.

Rather than bother to address any of that emotional mess, he tugged Derek’s arm up over his, so he could look at the tattoos there.

Derek propped himself up on his elbow to look down at Stiles and allow more access to his arm.

Stiles glanced up at him, tracing the path of a complicated folded band with his fingertip. “If you shifted while you were inside of me, what do you think would happen?”

“Do you want to find out?”

“I think it warrants experimentation. But maybe on a watermelon or something first. Or ballistic gel like in those YouTube videos?”

“I’m not fucking a watermelon, Stiles.”

“But it’s for science!”

Derek sighed dramatically. “This was so much better when you were too horny to be a brat.”

“That should give you incentive to do this again,” he replied flippantly, tossing him a sly grin.

Derek didn't return the volley with humor. Instead, a strange expression crossed his face, something new and curious that Stiles couldn’t read. He curled his arm up and ran his fingers down Stiles’ face, turning it gently towards his own.

Stiles had previously believed that he was fairly well experienced with kissing and had always considered it one of his favorite past times, but kissing Derek wasn't like what he thought of as kissing at all. It wasn't even in the same category. Stiles had kissed, he assumed, probably dozens of partners of a variety of skills and experience, but this wasn’t like any of that. Derek’s mouth was dangerous, consuming, even after being sated. It felt like he could never get enough of Stiles, like there was something about him that drove him wild with hunger.

“Wait. Beta form or Alpha form?” Derek asked, pulling back abruptly.

Stiles considered this briefly. “How much of a difference is it?”

“What? I have no idea.”

“You’ve never shifted and jacked off?”

“I think we have different priorities.”

“Clearly. I feel like there’s a generational gap here, maybe.”

Derek snorted. “I’m only nine years older than you.”

“Ugh, gross, I’m dating an old man!”

“_Are_ you dating me?”

Stiles froze, hazarding a glance upwards. Derek seemed perfectly neutral, almost content. “Maybe?”

“Mm. Maybe.” Derek echoed, settling in to stretch out behind him again and pressing his nose to the back of Stiles’ neck. A thrilled little shiver ran through him. It was such a tiny thing but felt so intensely good. “Well, let me know when you work it out then.”

“Yeah. Could you jerk me off one more time though?”

“Only since my arthritis isn’t flaring up.”

“So gross and _old_.” 


	4. Chapter 4

Stiles woke up alone, wearing nothing but flannel pants that didn’t belong to him. He knew before he began to stir that the other side of the bed would be cold and had no confusion about where he was. He could smell it before he was fully awake and began to remember every minute of the night in perfect, clear, embarrassing, glorious detail before as he slowly faded into the world. He might have dreamed, but his brain had no time to try to remember, already preoccupied with the memory of being knotted, and then later showering together, Derek washing his hair and telling him how beautiful he was. They hadn’t fucked again; the edge had been taken off his heat and Derek wanted him to get some sleep. When he proved restless, Derek had read to him.

There was a note on the nightstand beside his phone, which had already been plugged into a charger he’d never seen before and was happily blinking with unread messages. It sat atop a book with “The City & The City” embossed across its binding that hadn’t been there the night before.

The yellow post-it read “Kitchen” in Derek’s familiar capital letter handwriting. He lingered for a bit, answering Scott’s dozen-or-so text messages asking where he was with some very mature emojis, until his curiosity and the need to pee finally drove him out of his warm cocoon.

Once in the kitchen, he found that his suppressants and Adderall had been taken from his bag and were sitting on the counter alongside a glass of water and a banana, another note resting below. “Roof - up the stairs, second door” was all it said.

It’s not like he had any other plans, really.

At the end of his mini scavenger hunt, Derek was on a treadmill, his bare feet making a pleasing _poff_-ing sound with every strike. Clad only in a pair of black athletic shorts, Stiles was surprised to see yet another tattoo he’d missed in the meager light of the bedside lamp the night before, this one on the middle of his back, a black triskelion curling over the shifting muscles between his shoulders. It was separate from the bands of designs that curled pleasingly over his cannonball of a shoulder and rounded it out like medieval armor.

His hands practically ached just to touch him. It was worse than before. Now that he knew exactly how Derek’s waist felt under his hands, and his unyielding his muscles were, and how hot his skin was…

“You are trying to kill me,” Stiles muttered, closing the roof access door behind himself.

“Good morning to you too. Stiles, this is Carolyn, one of my emissaries. Carolyn, this is Stiles.” The bastard wasn’t even remotely out of breath.

It was only then Stiles noticed an older woman with neat folds of silver hair sitting primly in an office chair, a laptop balanced on her knees. She raked her eyes up and down him with a quick flash, and Stiles quickly crossed his arms over his naked chest, instinctively trying to make himself smaller. “Charmed. I did not know you were entertaining this morning, Alpha Hale. I would have been more discreet.”

“Stiles is an Omega, Carolyn.”

She paused long enough to raise her head and actually look at him, eyes slightly wider this time, then pressed her lips together and looked back down to her screen. “Naturally.” 

Stiles was tempted to ask more in depth about what Carolyn did as an emissary for such a huge pack but felt ridiculous asking one that looked like she was sent from HR to issue his discipline report.

“Are your weekends all work?” Stiles queried, coming up alongside the treadmill so Derek could see his best puppy eyes. At this vantage, Derek was even taller than usual. The gay cliques he’d been in had never been kind to tall bottoms; he perversely liked how small Derek could make him feel. Like he'd won at something.

“Almost always, but Carolyn is helping me clear my schedule for today, so we can spend some time together. I still have a few Skype calls in the afternoon I don’t want to reschedule. It’ll only be a few hours.”

“Mm. Carolyn, can you schedule us a beach vacation?”

“Of course. Alpha Hale?”

Derek sighed heavily. “Let’s pencil Oaxaca in for late January after my previously scheduled week off. We’ll touch base about the logistics of that later and loop in Lydia.”

Stiles gaped. “What? Wha-really?”

Derek glanced over at him. “If you can wait that long?”

Stiles snapped his mouth shut and nodded.

“That’s my sweet boy. I’ll be downstairs as soon as I’m finished to make breakfast. Keep yourself out of trouble.”

He still wanted to linger, but Carolyn was watching him closely as a blush spread across his whole face, and he decided it safer to tuck his tail and run rather than be put on a corrective action plan.

** 

“I have plans all day tomorrow,” Derek informed him as they finished dinner, which he insisted on eating sitting fully clothed at the table rather than Stiles’ alternative suggestion that involved a tarp and what he felt was a pretty creative double entendre about salad. “Do you want me to drive you home after we eat?”

“Hmm. No, thanks.”

“You still need to spend time with Scott. In your own house.”

Stiles sighed. “Good luck with that. He’s out with Allison tonight. Like usual.”

“Then go home and play video games, Stiles. Or read. Learn to play an instrument. Knit a scarf. Do something enriching. You have to maintain a life of your own outside of hanging out with me. That’s going to be a mandatory part of this arrangement.”

Stiles didn’t see anything wrong with his unhealthy overly-dependent obsessive tendencies that hyper-focused on a single person to the detrimental exclusion of his own well-being,_ thankyouverymuch_.

Instead of chasing that line of thought, he gave an injured-sounding huff. “But if I go home, you’ll come to your senses and realize that you’ve been drugged by my sex pheromones this whole time, and then I’ll never be allowed back.”

Derek just stared at him, expressionless, for a long moment. “How do you know it’s not my pheromones drugging you?” he finally asked.

Stiles waved one arm to indicate all of himself, as if that were clearly answer enough. When Derek only continued to stare at him, the gestures started to include mimed comparisons between Derek’s physique and his own, growing continually more exaggerated until Derek finally climbed to his feet and took their empty plates. 

“You’re getting up early with me then. Go take your shower now while I clean up.”

“Sex pheromones take the wheel!” Stiles cawed with victory.

“You do not have sex pheromones. And you’re not going to make this a habit.”

“Yes, I am! I live here now. I claim squatter’s rights.”

Derek heaved a weary sigh. “I regret this already.”

**

Stiles turned to check the time. Still thirty minutes before Derek’s alarm. Stiles couldn’t remember the last time he’d been up before dawn on a Sunday, but he’d been restless for hours. The vague yet menacing discomfort of his last day of heat, coupled with not having his favorite pillow, overlaid the looming threat of an impending alarm that was going to mean he had to leave and go home alone, all created a combination that was definitely not calming to his generalized anxiety.

Derek didn’t seem to share his distress and was sleeping peacefully through it all. His arms were folded up behind his head, the blanket tented between his bent knees. His face was turned away from Stiles, and if he remained very still, he could make out the pulse point in Derek’s neck calmly beating away in the soft light emitted from the bathroom light Stiles had insisted he wanted left on.

The longer he laid there, the more his heat began to demand his attention. He was getting embarrassingly hard, chills running down his body from his scalp in shuddering waves. He wrapped his hand around the base of his leaking cock and squeezed to the point of pain, wishing it away. Derek shifted slightly and sighed before resettling, and Stiles froze.

Oh, _that’s right_. He had a way to make it go away. He knew he really probably shouldn’t wake him up this early, but honestly, how could he be expected to sleep next to the sexiest Alpha in the known universe and not want to climb all up on that every single minute? He knew his brain was hazy from his heat, but how had he even kept his hands to himself almost the entire day yesterday? Granted, it had been a great day and he didn’t regret a single second of them spending casual non-work time together, watching movies and eating snacks and making out. It had been nice, but _still._

He carefully slipped out from between the warm blankets, took the bottle of lube from his nightstand, and padded as quietly as he could towards the bathroom, slowly pulling the door closed. While he had to start with lube to ease himself open, he found himself getting slick of his own accord. This was still a new phenomenon to him. It had never happened before, or at least, not since he started taking suppressants after his first heat cycle as a teenager.

Lord, his first cycle had been an absolute mess. He’d presented late, almost a full two years after Scott, and nobody had been expecting it. An Omega being born to two perfectly normal human parents wasn’t exactly the most common thing, so both he and his poor, beleaguered, unsuspecting father were both pretty blindsided by the whole ordeal.

By the time he reached three fingers, one arm braced on the bathroom counter and the other scissoring inside of himself, all of the lubrication was entirely of his own making. He tried to make it as clinical as possible, but the anticipation of what was to come was paradoxically making it nearly impossible to wait.

Derek was still sleeping soundly as he tiptoed back in and carefully slipped back on his side of the bed. He kept sliding along until he felt the heat emanating from Derek’s side.

He started slowly reaching out when Derek’s hand shot out and captured his, suddenly tossing the blankets back and rolling over on top of him in one fluid movement, crashing down between his thighs.

Stiles let out a yelp of shock as the head of Derek’s thick cock was against his hole, pressing insistently in with no warning. “Ah! Fuck!”

“Did you want something, sweetheart?” he purred in Stiles’ ear, his voice gruff and husky from sleep.

“Yes! Knot, Daddy, please,” he choked out, hooking his feet around his waist and trying to scoot downwards.

“Want it rough, baby?”

“Need it,” Stiles corrected him breathlessly.

Derek’s teeth latched onto the tender base of his throat with a snarl as he pushed deeper, inching his way in, each time pulling out just slightly, easing his way. Stiles’ arms flew around Derek’s shoulders, blunt nails digging in.

He reached below Stiles and gripped his ass, hard, squeezing deep through fat and muscle and tendon. Unexpected pleasure shot through him at the roughness, just barely bordering on pain but still well and firmly within the realm of _oh-god-never-stop-doing-that_. Derek finally bottomed out inside of him but didn’t hesitate to allow Stiles time to get used to him.

Derek slung one arm under Stiles’ other knee and hitched it up, sinking to the hilt again and pushing the air from his lungs. The hand gripping his ass tightened again, the pain giving his pleasure a sharper edge. Derek ground in, repositioning his bite, and slowly began to rock. Stiles grabbed his hair, hard enough that it had to hurt, and urged his teeth deeper, forcing Derek’s teeth down almost enough to break through his skin.

It took Derek a few tries and repositions of Stiles’ legs until he got what he wanted – Stiles keening and gasping as he found his prostate. He pounded relentlessly, letting Stiles ride the crest of his last wave of heat, crying out with incomprehensible, broken begging without ever knowing what he was begging for.

Derek pulled his hair, hard, yanking his head to the side, and gave him a sharp bite under his ear. Stiles sobbed in response. “You want it?” Derek growled against his skin.

“Nnng-- Yes! Fuck, yes, _breed me_, Daddy,” he panted. “Ah! Please!”

“Flip over, get that ass in the air.”

Stiles scrambled to comply, roughly pulling himself off Derek’s cock without complaint and rolling. Derek didn’t waste a second, hooking one arm around his waist and pulling him back, sliding back inside him without resistance. His teeth came down on the curve of his neck, sinking in until Stiles gasped with pleasure, pushing up against the pressure.

He desperately tried to turn his head, to urge Derek’s teeth downwards, following the curve of his neck and shoulder, but Derek let him go completely and angled up, out of biting range. Stiles whimpered, unable to swallow his frustration.

Derek’s hand curled around his aching dick instead, circling the base and squeezing with absolute surety. Stiles’ arms went weak and he fell to his elbows, unsupported. Derek began flicking his wrist and Stiles was gone, helpless, his orgasm curling up from his toes.

“You cum on my knot,” Derek snarled loudly, his voice dark and harsh, so uncharacteristically rough that it made his entire body shudder. Stiles’ wolf trembled in delight and he strained to comply, keeping it at bay, desperate to cum but even more desperate not to. His toes curled up from the effort as he heard Derek’s harsh, thunderous growl.

He felt Derek swelling inside him, pulsing and thickening, and he finally let go, Derek’s pumping hand wringing every drop of cum from him as he writhed and whimpered helplessly, clawing at the bed.

_Like a good little Omega_, his traitorous wolf preened as his vision went white.

Derek was still panting and growling above him, his grip still tight on Stiles’ waist. He heard Derek swallow, thickly, trying to catch his breath. “Are you okay, baby?” he finally asked after a long silence.

“I think I died,” he admitted. “I came so hard I saw stars.”

“Did you get what you needed?”

He nodded and put his forehead down into the blankets. “I think my heat broke.”

He made a noise of agreement. 

“You fucked it right out of me.”

“Go towards my side, carefully. I’m going to move with you.”

They awkwardly scooted together across the bed until Derek was finally able to lay them on their sides, Derek’s back towards the door as he curled protectively around his slighter companion.

“How long do you usually knot for?” Stiles asked on an exhale as he finally settled.

“Not sure. You’re the only person I’ve ever done this with.”

His wolf suddenly surged closer to his skin in excitement, clawing in his ribcage, _needing_. “Ever?”

“We can probably force it out if you have somewhere to be.”

He cringed at the mental image, which instantly distracted him from the _keep, claim, mine, mine_ that his wolf was braying about. “Nope! Nope, I’m good. _Super_ good.”

Derek nuzzled into the fine hairs on the back of his neck and breathed in deeply.

A thought struck Stiles. “Can I play with your phone?”

Derek rustled about behind him, arching away while carefully keeping his hips as still as possible to not pull on the knot. He slid it over Stiles’ shoulder and collapsed again, burying his nose against his spine.

He tapped into the password protected photo album. On a hunch, he started typing _M..i..e..c..z…_

Stiles could feel the movement of his face as Derek smiled against his back. “Heart skip a beat?”

“You’re such a jerk,” he said, trying to hide his own smile, closing the now-open photo album, and tossing the phone on his pillow.

**

Stiles met Derek’s eyes in the mirror as he put the finishing touches to his hair. He smiled, drawing his coffee mug close into his chest as he leaned on the bathroom wall behind him. “You look good,” he declared as the understatement of the century.

Derek offered him a wink and set about clearing the counter, replacing everything he’d taken out from the drawers and cabinet. “Remember that I’m onsite with clients Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday.”

“Mm. No, thanks. Tell Lydia you’re going on fuck-cation.”

“Under no circumstance would I ever tell anyone that. Ever. Why don’t you come over at seven for dinner tomorrow?”

“Dinner and sex?”

Stiles saw Derek’s reflection roll his eyes. 

“I mean, your personality is great and all, but I feel like we both know what’s actually going on here.”

“Dinner, and then you can read quietly while I catch up on emails.”

“And then all the sex,” Stiles confirmed.

Derek turned and slipped an arm around his waist easily, moving in close. “Does your mouth need something to do?”

“Mmmm, yes. Feed me chocolate and rub my belly?”

“I’ll pick up some cream and we’ll make mousse.”


	5. Chapter 5

The Thursday after Derek’s return was agonizing. Stiles was trying not to haunt his corner while Derek tried to play catch up after missing three days of regular office work, and he tried to make a real, conscious effort to not be underfoot, but it was like Derek was the magnetic north to the compass of his dick.

_No wait_. _Something not-dick-related._

…like Derek was the Pied Piper.

….to his dick.

“Oh my god. You are making it literally impossible to work,” Derek finally snapped, pulling open his drawer and fishing out his keyring. “Go to the loft and wait for me. And if you’re just going to lay about like a slug, you can do it in my bed.”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “So I don’t get my scent everywhere?”

“Because the sheets were just washed, and they don’t smell like you anymore. Take my car and get going.”

He wasn’t quite sure what to do with that much honesty. “Do you have some cash?” he asked.

Stiles thought he would have been pushing his luck, or Derek would have just made a _yeah, right_ face and sent him away, but he took his wallet from his drawer without hesitation. Stiles suddenly had a pair of c-notes in his hand and more butterflies in his stomach than he knew what to do with.

“Thank you, Daddy,” he said, trying to sound appropriately humble, moving to grab the keys. Derek caught his hand and tugged him down for a slow, lingering kiss. The initial surprise gave way to something warm and soft.

“You’re welcome, sweetheart,” Derek purred against his mouth. “Drive careful.”

It took Stiles a moment before he could open his eyes. When he did, Derek was just smirking at him.

Stiles took off like a bat out of hell that was already late for an appointment. He had a few stops to make and a lot of plans to machinate before the end of the workday.

**

The problem was, Stiles wasn’t sure what would constitute the end of the workday. Even if Derek left immediately at five, would he be taking public transportation or getting a ride? Did any public transportation even run close to the warehouses? Probably not.

_Alphas don’t just take public transportation, Stiles, geez. _

So, definitely getting a ride. From one of the Betas? Or having to wait for someone to come get him, and not leaving until half past? But on days when Stiles left work at five, Derek was still there, but he wouldn’t just leave Stiles to wait for him until late o’clock in the evening, right?

There was no way to know. So, to wait, Stiles had put down a small pillow to sit on and installed himself promptly at five, just to be safe, a few feet inside Derek’s loft door.

When the door opened at only ten minutes past the hour, Derek stopped short, visibly surprised at his welcome. Stiles sat kneeling in nothing except a pair of brand-new cherry red boxer briefs, with the leash that connected to a red leather collar laid out directly towards the door.

Derek closed the door immediately behind him and stepped in wordlessly. He was probably listening to the frantic drum of Stiles’ heart, hammering on the inside his fragile ribcage like a trapped animal, despite all his best attempts to keep calm.

He set his laptop bag on a table inside the door, eyes still on Stiles. He very slowly and deliberately bent and retrieved the leather handle of the silver chain leash and gave a light tug. Stiles came forward immediately.

“Is this something you like?”

Stiles just made a soft, noncommittal noise and knelt at his feet.

“Ah, good puppies don’t speak, I take it?”

He smiled, despite his attempts to appear straight-faced.

“I never imagined there was anything that could make you stop talking. You just keep surprising me.”

Derek’s hand was gentle in his hair as Stiles removed his shoes, setting them carefully on the mat with the other shoes lined up neatly there. He wasn’t sure what to do with the socks, but he folded them and laid them carefully on the corner of the mat, and Derek didn’t say anything. He tried to go for a nonchalant, practiced domesticity, as if this were a normal thing they might do every day.

Without a word, Stiles turned and led him towards the kitchen table, still down on his hands and knees. He knew what Derek was seeing from his vantage point because he’d been obsessing over it for hours. Two plates, one carefully arranged at the head of the table and the other on the floor beside. Stiles knew he might have been pushing his luck, but damned if he wasn’t going to push some boundaries along with it.

They didn’t speak all through dinner. Derek sat quietly with the book Stiles had left there that he’d seen him reading most recently, occasionally winding his fingers through Stiles’ hair or rubbing his ears absently.

Derek left him sitting to clear their plates, but only stacked them in the sink instead of washing them immediately as he usually did. He came back and stood behind Stiles, feet wide and braced on either side of his hips, both hands sifting through his hair.

Stiles remained perfectly still, closing his eyes and keeping his face forward, but he would have given anything to turn around. His mouth started watering at the idea and he absently started chewing his lip gently between his teeth to attempt to satisfy the craving of having something in his mouth.

Derek must have sensed that Stiles was doing something with his mouth, because his touch moved to stroke his face, drawing invisible lines over his lips and cheeks, continually in motion. Stiles leaned his face into the touch, opening his mouth as Derek’s fingers gently pressed the seam of his half-smiling lips.

He let Stiles’ mouth suck and play with his fingers as he knelt down, nuzzling the back of his neck. Stiles twitched instinctively as he hit a ticklish spot, and he felt Derek’s face smirk against his skin. He continued, one hand stroking down the lines of muscles in his shoulders, fingers and tongue and teeth tracing along the starscape of his freckles.

Derek took his fingers from Stiles’ mouth and stood, standing up behind him and holding his face with both hands pressed on either side of his head. The pads of his fingertips massaged deeply into his flesh, as if Derek were holding him in place against his own will. The silence stretched between them, and Stiles forced himself to let it.

Stiles took long deep breaths and remained still, until Derek finally retrieved the leash handle from the table and turned to walk to the couch without even looking back to see if Stiles was following.

He was, of course.

Derek laid a soft blanket down over the couch and tugged his leash, letting him climb up. Derek carefully nudged him to lay down on his back, without any pillow support under his neck that he could look down to see what was happening.

“I’m going to take the leash off,” Derek murmured in his ear. “But only so you don’t get yourself tangled.”

Stiles nodded and lifted his chin. The metal clip was released from the half ring of his collar and it was set aside.

“Both hands holding this pillow. Don’t let go no matter what.”

Stiles raised his hands and found the throw pillow in question. “Can I move the pillow around?”

“Just don’t let go,” Derek repeated. “Both hands, at all times, or we stop immediately, understand?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

“Good boy. Are you comfortable?”

Stiles nodded.

“What do you say if you’re not comfortable with something I’m doing?”

“Yellow light or red light.”

“That’s right.”

“I didn’t cum while you were gone,” Stiles offered.

Derek began kissing along the side of his face. “I can smell that. Did you want to?”

“No…. I mean, I kept myself busy, but you told me not to, so I tried not to think about it?” The kisses trailed slowly behind his ear, each one lingering. “Fuck, I mean, yes, more than anything. Still want to.”

“We have a while before we get to that.” Derek moved to lavish attention along his collar bone, inching down.

“But, maybe one little orgasm now, and one later? Or, like, lots? Just, lots now, and lots later, and more in between? That feels good there, no, go back…”

Stiles half expected Derek to tell him to shut up, but he obliged his request generously before continued on his path, methodically attempting to kiss every exposed inch of him, licking and biting in all the best and worst places.

He was taking Stiles apart, inch by inch, finding ticklish spots and tender spots, and Stiles had no idea that his sternum was so damn sensitive, but now his underwear were absolutely soaked. His cock was twitching and jumping of its own accord, leaking precum as he tried to arch up towards Derek seeking some friction, but ultimately touching nothing. He’d been chewing on the pillow without even realizing.

When Derek had finally molested Stiles’ stomach enough, leaving some vague bruises from some not-so-tender love bites, he wanted to weep with relief that Derek was finally sliding his boxer briefs down his legs and tossing them aside. He had lost his sense of time and had been drifting, his mind consumed with nothing but the pillow between his hands and the feeling of Derek’s mouth as it undid him completely.

“Oh, god, yes please,” Stiles was saying, pretty sure he had been mindlessly babbling on for a few minutes.

“Please what, sweetheart?”

“Please, Daddy, let me cum?”

“So soon?”

“Yes, yes, yes, definitely this soon. Like, ten minutes ago.”

The noise that tore out of Stiles mouth as Derek had suddenly taken his entire cock into his mouth, nose flat against his stomach, would probably not have been out of place at an aviary. His whole body curled in on itself in surprise, but then pulled taut like a bow when he found he couldn’t get enough purchase with his feet to push his hips up.

But as soon as it was there, it was gone again, the burning heat removed entirely. “I think you can wait a little longer. I don’t think I’m _quite_ done here yet.”

Stiles covered his face with the pillow – gross chewed-up-drool-spot and all – and wailed as he kicked his heels into the cushions.

Derek only laughed and continued on down the crease of his leg, lavishing attention only close enough to tease. By the time Derek had reached his knees, he had gotten more control over his composure and had been able to take the pillow off of his face, but let it rest on his chest like a shield. He continued to grumble halfhearted insults.

By the time Derek reached his feet, he’d began to drift again, frustration not quite forgotten but more bearable in the presence of a different type of pleasure. Finally, Derek let his feet fall comfortably and settled between his knees, leaning over him.

“I think we’re done here for now. Unless you think I missed a spot?” Derek asked, barely feigning innocence.

“Nope, I’m good. Want to go out for ice cream?”

“There’s some leftover mousse from the other night still.”

The finger that circled his hole wasn’t a surprise, but it felt so good it made Stiles want to wail out loud a second time. Instead, he kept his game face on. “Could we try making gingerbread mousse?”

Derek pretended to consider, even while easily sliding in up to his knuckle, watching with dark eyes. “I think we have enough cream left. What made you think of gingerbread?”

Finally, Stiles snapped. “I hate you so fucking much!” he cried. “Christ, will you just fucking fuck me already?”

The Alpha laughed, but Stiles just shoved himself roughly up on his elbows and pushed the pillow against Derek’s chest as hard as he could. Derek went willingly, falling back into the couch in a sitting position as if Stiles was any physical match for him. Stiles was pouncing into his lap in a blink, still shoving. 

“Pushy little Omega,” he teased, holding Stiles’ hips but not attempting to control him.

“Bossy asshole Alpha,” Stiles spat back, trying to angle his hips to push Derek’s dick inside of him. He used the pillow to knock away Derek’s hands.

“Do you need help?”

“No! Fuck you. I don’t need you.”

Derek huffed a laugh and leaned back, folding his arms behind his head and making a show of settling in. The leaning back actually helped, but not enough.

“I had this all planned out,” Stiles complained, canting his hips and trying again, only for the head of Derek's cock to bump off the slick rim and slide away. “I was going to seduce you all sexy like, suck you off and get you so turned on that you would ravage me and fuck my brains out.”

Derek made a sympathetic moue but offered no help.

“Why do you have to be the sexy one all the time? You just have to breathe, and I get hard, and then I go through all this trouble to actually try and seduce you and I’m failing. I can’t win here.”

“Woah, woah. No. Red light… Stiles…” His face suddenly hardened and turned serious as Derek sat up and took the pillow from his hands. Stiles made a grab for it immediately, but Derek pushed it aside beyond his reach.

“Is a fail wolf,” Stiles finished for him with an exasperated groan, his posture sinking.

“Is the opposite of what I was going to say.” Derek took his face in both of his hands, but Stiles kept his gaze down mutinously. “I’m not here just to have something to stick my dick in, so if you’re going to use sex as a measure of how attractive I find you or how much I want to be with you, we’re going to need to have a serious talk.”

“Nngghh nooooo. Right now?”

“Yes.”

Stiles didn’t know what to do with his hands, so he wrapped them around himself. “I just… I tried really hard.”

Derek very carefully released his face and set about removing his collar. “No, don’t pout. Do you honestly think I didn’t want to shove you face first into the floor when I walked in? Being in control of my actions is not a reflection on how attractive you are.” 

He discretely glanced up through his eyelashes. “Tell me I’m pretty.”

“Were I unwed, I would take you in a manly fashion.”

Stiles smiled, despite himself. “Because I’m pretty?”

“Because you’re pretty,” Derek answered dutifully.

“You’re a nerd.”

“I only watched it because you kept quoting it and it was driving me crazy. Do you want me to keep touching you?” Stiles nodded, and Derek let his hands roam freely over him, as if smoothing down his rough edges while he spoke. “Listen. I don’t want this to just be an Alpha-Omega dynamic, and I don’t think you do either. I don’t want you to be in a submissive role because you’re an Omega. It has to be because you like it and want it because it feels good. I want this to be _our_ dynamic, and part of that is accommodating what works for both of us, okay? Fucking you on the floor just because I want to doesn’t work for me, unless you’ve already told me that’s what you want too. I’m not going to pretend I’m able to read your mind. You will have to communicate what you want. I won’t guess.”

“What about what you want?”

Derek’s hands stilled and went to his face again, nudging his chin up to he could meet his eyes. “Treating you like a disposable fuck doll does not make me happy. Making you happy is what makes me happy. That’s how I work.”

Something clicked into place in Stiles brain, out of nowhere. “Where do the flowers come from?”

Derek didn’t even pretend to misunderstand. “A shop downtown owned by some Betas in a small local pack.”

“Do you pick them out yourself or…?”

“I only call a few days ahead and give them suggestions or a theme. They’re the real artists.”

“But they started coming immediately when I started working there.”

“Yes. But they’ve always been for you.”

Stiles dropped his gaze and leaned forward to press their foreheads together. He liked being on Derek’s lap because they were finally at the same height to do so comfortably.

“Do you want to talk more about this?”

Stiles shook his head.

“Do you want me to take the lead?”

“Yes.”

Derek’s pause was a tangible thing between them. Stiles smiled.

“Yes, please, Daddy.”

“Okay. I’m sorry I strung you out so long earlier, sweetheart. You were being very, very good. But we’re going to take just a few minutes to work our way back up. I’ll make it worth your wait.”

Derek pulled him in tightly, one hand cradling the base of his skull while the other circled around his hip, their mouths coming together softly. His kiss was tender and deliberate and so perfect Stiles never wanted him to stop. When they broke, Derek pulled him closer to push his nose against Stiles’ neck.

“Maybe we’ll see about giving you a few orgasms, since you asked so nicely earlier. How many do you think that is?”

Stiles was distracted by the feeling of what was happening beneath him, Derek’s cock growing and nudging against the underside of his. “Um… lots, was the exact number.”

“How many is lots? Three? Six?” He gave a bite.

“When I’m not in heat? You have a pretty high opinion of yourself,” Stiles murmured, letting his head fall to the side and pushing up towards Derek’s teeth.

“Not at all. I have quite a high opinion of you.” Derek’s hand felt like pure relief as it drifted between them, gripping his cock gently.

Derek opened his legs to allow Stiles to fall lower between them, and he made the mistake of looking down. Derek was holding both of them together, his swelling cock pressing against Stiles’ smaller one in the loose grip of his hands. Stiles’ brain short circuited and he inhaled sharply. He pushed his hips towards Derek, seeking friction.

“There’s my good boy. Your first one is going to be so pretty. We’re gonna start with three tonight, but I still think we could work you up to six if we try.”

**

Stiles was finally ready to leave the bathroom light off for the night for the first time, nestled in beside Derek, his face glowing softly in the light from his e-reader. He pulled the blankets around his shoulders comfortably and settled in on his side, sore and absolutely wrecked and damn content about it, facing Derek, waiting for those sweet, sweet snuggles to come his way when Derek was done picking the next book to read aloud to him.

“Shit,” Stiles said sharply, stiffening.

“Hmm?”

“When do we get to the point in our relationship when we can fart around each other?”

Derek turned in the light of his screen and looked hard at him with stern-looking eyebrows, his profile illuminated in the cool glow. Stiles blinked back innocently, still waiting for a response. Without warning, Derek barked a laugh, but then reached down and pulled the blanket over Stiles’ head. “Right now!”

Stiles could only scream. 

**

Scott and Allison were sitting at their cramped excuse for a kitchen table when he came in, mugs of hot chocolate between them. They turned to look at his approach and he had a disconcerting feeling of being a teenager again.

“Oh, hey Allison.”

“You’re home early,” Scott commented, his eyes narrow.

Stiles shrugged and kicked his shoes in some direction, throwing his coat over the back of a couch. “Usual Wednesday.”

Allison’s eyes ping ponged between them. “So, Stiles, Scott tells me you’ve been spending a lot of time with Derek.”

“Yeah, we’ve been hanging out. How do you and your dad know him?”

Allison tipped and toyed with her mug on the table. “Has he mentioned anything about us?” Her posture was defensive, even though her face seemed to be pretty open and honest.

“No, not at all.”

“You know… I mean, do you…” She exhaled sharply and started again with more confidence. “Okay. So. You remember the Hale House fire?”

“Well, Scott and I are from Beacon Hills, so we don’t really remember a time before it,” he said with a shrug. Scott just gave him an impassive glance.

“Okay. Have you heard of Kate Argent?”

Stiles thought back. Argent was only recently familiar in the context of the coffee shop. “I don’t think so.”

“She was my aunt. And she knew Derek. She knew his whole family.” Her eyes skittered around the room, like she was looking for a distraction. Some of her confidence deflated in her effort to temper her words. She was trying to get something difficult out and it was obvious she was genuinely trying. “Generations ago, the Argents were hunters… _that _kind of hunter… and some members of our family still believed in that kind of thing.”

A slimy kind of shiver ran through him. “Your aunt still believed in that kind of thing,” Stiles ventured.

“And she knew a lot of other people who did too,” she confirmed. “She was the mastermind behind it all.”

“But, she wasn’t… I mean, it was all men involved? No women were ever mentioned.”

“Kate took a plea deal and rolled on the others before trial, she was nothing but a footnote by the time the media got a hold of it, and it exploded… she was basically forgotten by the time it went to trial. You have no idea how lucky my family was.”

Stiles blinked. “Lucky?”

Allison held up a hand. “Okay, I mean, not like that. That’s a bad choice of words, I’m sorry. But, we aren’t like she was, she never really had any contact with us anyways, so not getting dragged into that whole mess was really good.”

“I know what you meant,” he allowed. Really, he would have been happier with the conversation being closed, but he could tell Allison had more to say, and he was also perversely curious. Almost like he wanted to hear more but didn’t want to have to live with remembering it. There had been enough he’d seen in his father’s files at too young an age. He must have only been seven or eight at the time. It had taken a long time to put those memories into the darkest recesses of his memory that they stopped haunting him. Sometimes things he’d seen in those files still came back, unbidden, never letting him _really _forget the emotional damage his precociousness had left him with.

“She planned it for months. She manipulated information out of them, finding out the security codes, their schedules, so she knew when their pack meetings were, when their family gatherings were happening. She found out everything.”

“How?”

“From Derek. It took her a while, but eventually, she told him everything she needed to know. But he didn’t realize what was happening. She was a predator, and she groomed him to do what she wanted, and she took advantage of him. What she did was rape, and it was cruel, and nobody will ever forgive her for it,” she said quickly, spitting the words out.

“Oh, c’mon…” Scott broke in.

Allison fixed him with a piercing stare. “He was a child, Scott. He was fifteen. It was rape,” she said with crystal clear enunciation. “She was a _predator_.”

“Why do you keep saying ‘was’?” Stiles asked.

“Nobody ever saw her again after the got released from prison,” she said with a shrug. “She either disappeared or Laura Hale made her disappear. But either way, nobody has seen her since. As far as my family is concerned, she’s dead to us. It hasn’t really been easy, but it is what it is, honestly.”

Stiles nodded, uncomfortable. “Derek never mentioned any of that. He only had good things to say about you and your dad.”

“Yeah, my dad likes him too. Derek knows that we aren’t like Kate. They get along really well.”

“Probably because they’re the same age,” Scott grumbled.

Stiles turned to him. “Wait, what? They definitely are not.”

Scott just shrugged and looked away.

“No, man, you need to explain this. What is your problem right now?”

“He’s taking advantage of you! He’s your boss!” he exclaimed, turning back with eyes blazing.

Stiles couldn’t stop from rolling his eyes. He knew Scott better than anyone and he’d known this was coming for a long time. “Nope, he’s really not. And, anyways, he keeps his work life and his personal life super separate. It’s like I’m not even dealing with the same person sometimes. He won’t even touch me at work. And HR knows about it; he, like, had to fill out a form about it or something so he’s not allowed to sign for my pay raises or do my reviews or anything. I don’t know. But definitely not taking advantage of me because he’s my boss. That’s, like, _so_ secondary to everything.”

“Fine, then, see? He’s still taking advantage of you, because you’re an Omega!”

Stiles rolled his eyes again with a scoff. “Again. He’s not. Honestly, if you want to know – which I don’t care if you do or not, you’re the one bringing this up, so now you get to know – it’s the other way around. This is pretty much all on me. He wouldn’t kiss me without prior written consent. Like, I could parade around wearing nothing but a medium rare steak, and he wouldn’t even have looked unless I told him to.”

Scott made a face and turned away, but Allison perked up and suddenly got very interested. She opened her mouth to ask a question but glanced at Scott and clearly thought better of it. Her lips compressed in a repressed smile and she became intensely interested in the contents of her mug.

“Well, it might be that way for now, but what if that changes?”

“What if the Kosmos 2519 falls on apartment?” he volleyed back. “I don’t know, Scott, I really just have to deal with what I have in front of me right now.”

“Okay, well, what happens if you tell him ‘no’?”

“I say it, he listens. Like, what’s how relationships work? Is this news to you?”

“How do you know? Have you tried? Have you actually told him ‘no’ before?”

Stiles paused to think. He felt like he’d spent more time trying to get what he wanted than trying to deflect anything he didn’t. God, he was probably so desperate for it most of the time, he would have done anything... “No, but I trust him.”

Scott looked doubtful, but Stiles could see that little hamster wheel turning around in his head, and he knew what it meant. “He’s twice your size. He could hurt you.”

“Yes, but I have to ask him nicely to.”

Scott cringed a little, but he was still metaphorically unruffling his own feathers, nonetheless. “You’re sure? Like, really sure?”

“Scott. I am really, _really_ sure. He would never hurt me. Please believe me.”

“Derek is a really good guy, Scott,” Allison contributed earnestly. “Even my dad loves him.”

The sunshine broke through the clouds of his stern expression, and he smiled. “All right. Whatever. Then I guess he’s cool.”

Stiles sighed, shaking his head. God, why couldn’t everything in his life be as easy and predictable as Scott?


	6. Chapter 6

Stiles didn’t need any supernatural werewolf hearing to hear what was happening in the other bedroom. With a groan, he reached for his phone as quickly as he could.

“Hello, gorgeous,” the voice on the other end purred in greeting. There were multiple loud conversations happening in the background that could have been shouting, but it didn’t sound like English.

“Can I sleep over tonight?”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah. I’m fine… I just…” The thumping sound increased from Scott’s bedroom. “Ugh, no, I guess I’m not. I really want to sleep over.”

“Of course you can. Do you need me to pick you up?”

He breathed a sigh of relief. “Yes, please. ASAP. Where are you?”

Derek hesitated, and he realized the conversation in the background was Spanish. There was a round of raucous laughter. “I’m just finishing a meeting downtown.”

“What kind of meeting do you have this late?”

There was another brief hesitation. “I volunteer as a supernatural liaison for the local immigrant workers center.”

“Immigrant workers? Like… the undocumented kind?”

“We’ll talk more later in private. I’ll be there in less than an hour. Pack your work clothes for tomorrow and we’ll carpool.”

“I’ll be waiting out front.”

**

Scott’s conversation from earlier rattled around in his head, even as he and Derek chatted while Derek made them Greek quinoa bowls, even as they ate at the dinner table and Derek told him about the low wage and immigrant worker group he volunteered once a month at, and even as he cleaned up while Derek excused himself to the balcony to take a phone call.

He did have the ability to say no, even if he didn’t exercise it. He was absolutely sure of it.

Derek came back in and slid an arm around his waist, bending and pressing a kiss to his neck. “Thank you for waiting.”

Stiles steeled himself and didn’t react. “No touching, please.”

Derek just smiled and released him. “Sure, baby. Tell me when you’re ready. I need to answer a few emails before I call it a night; do you want to pick out a movie?”

_That was it?_

Stiles still chafed as he puttered about but didn’t turn the television on. Derek set up his laptop on the table and watched over the edge as Stiles meandered and poked through the guest bedroom and the storage room. He could feel Derek’s attention on him, even when he wasn’t directly able to see him.

He wandered into the master bedroom, little wheels and gears still spinning and clicking through his head.

“Stiles? Are you okay?” Derek called from the table.

“Not sure yet,” he murmured, fully aware Derek could hear him from a distance.

“I’m interruptible. You let me know if you feel like talking, okay?”

He made a noncommittal noise and flopped into Derek’s side of the bed, burying his face into the scent of his pillow.

He nuzzled in deeper, breathing in the smell. God, how did Derek always smell so good? Did he always smell this good to Derek? Maybe that’s why he was always so eager to get his mouth on him; maybe to him it was like this but on steroids.

Not that Stiles didn’t enjoy it too. A few nights before, he’d sat on Derek’s face and he swore it was like a religious experience.

His cock had already started to harden at the thought of Derek eating his ass, and he ground into the mattress experimentally. A shameless sigh escaped him. He pulled up one leg and slipped his hand down into his pants.

Under normal circumstances, he might have ignored it and continued about his merry way. But something clicked into place in his mind, and he knew exactly what he was about. He wondered if he could cum laying down like this, rubbing himself and drowning in Derek’s scent. He unbuckled his pants and slid them down a few inches to give himself more room for his hand to move.

“Still no touching?” Derek asked from just outside the doorway. His face was in shadows, but Stiles could just make out the lines of his face as he watched impassively. He stood with his arms crossed.

“No touching,” Stiles confirmed.

He rolled to his back, pulling the hem of his shirt up to expose his stomach and chest. He pushed his pants and underwear down to his thighs and began pumping his cock in earnest. He didn’t dare look, but the knowledge that Derek was watching was enough to push him hard over the edge, his toes curling into the blankets. He came all over his stomach, heels digging into the mattress as his hips lifted themselves of their own accord.

By the time he finally opened his eyes and glanced back to the door, Derek was long gone.

He waited as his breathing returned to normal, idly stroking the last few drops of cum out, until it was too soft and sensitive to keep holding it. He grabbed tissues and went to finish cleaning up in the bathroom.

He meandered out at his own pace. Derek was sitting at the table, tapping away at his keyboard, as if he’d been there the whole time.

Stiles slid into his lap, facing him Riker-style. Derek crossed his arms. If the position was uncomfortable, Derek gave no indication. “You smell like you had fun. Are you feeling better?”

“I just wanted to tell you ‘no’,” he explained with some measure of pride.

“So that was just to tease me?” Derek asked, and even though his tone was playful, there was a sharpness underneath it that Stiles felt like a knife edge. He arranged his legs to put one ankle on his opposite knee as if Stiles wasn’t sitting there at all. He shifted and kept his balance defiantly. 

“Yes and no. Did you like it?”

“I did. But what do you think happens to little brats who like to tease their Daddies?”

Stiles felt the smirk spread across his lips. “They have to get on their knees and their Daddy fucks their bratty little face,” he answered readily.

Derek raised a dark eyebrow, silky as a promise. “What a very clever boy I have. Go in the bedroom, strip down, and sit on your side of the bed with your back to the door. I’ll be in after I lock up.”

Stiles dashed off and complied quickly, tossing his clothes into the laundry basket with Derek’s – part of his long-term, ongoing strategy to completely integrate himself into Derek’s life – and arranged himself in the location instructed. He tried sitting up straight with his feet on the floor, then pulled them up to kneel, then tried crisscross, which seemed to work.

He waited in the quiet, feeling more exposed than usual to the cool air, resettling over and over. Stiles didn’t hear the approach as Derek rounded the bed to his side, the barest hint of a you’re-in-trouble-now smile on his face. He’d cuffed his sleeves further up to above his elbows, allowing Stiles to see the muscles of his forearms. He carefully removed his watch and set it on the bureau, still watching Stiles as he fidgeted impatiently.

He reached out instinctively as Derek approached, sliding his hands over Derek’s belt, but he suddenly stepped back and clicked his tongue in displeasure. “Aren’t you being punished? You don’t get to touch as you please. You have to wait for permission.”

“Daddy, may I please touch you?”

“You may take my tie off.”

Derek’s knots weren’t the half-Windsor that Stiles had to look up a video tutorial for every time he needed to wear one. Derek’s knots had charm, and intimidating names like Merovingian and fishbone and Eldredge.

“What’s this one?” he inquired as he leaned up and tried to reverse-engineer it.

“An Atlantic knot. It’s easier than it looks.”

Stiles gave a few experimental tugs until he found where it started to slide easily. Emboldened, he continued, and found that it was pretty easy, just a series of well-placed loop-arounds. He slid it out from Derek’s collar and sat back down, holding it up to him in both hands.

Derek took it and smoothed it out to its full length. Stiles watched his hands stroke over the sleek fabric, as if measuring something out. “Fold your arms behind your back, hands around wrists.”

Stiles complied, his heart suddenly loud. He felt his balls draw up as his cock immediately started to harden. Derek leaned over him and gently looped the tie around his wrists and hands, fabric dragging gently over his skin, and tucked the tails into each of his palms, his Alpha whispering in his ear while he worked. “Red light means stop, yellow light means slow down. You won’t be punished for using them. Don’t let go,” he instructed. Stiles grabbed them and held the tails tightly.

The idea of being used beyond his control sent icy shivers up and down his back, tingling at the back of his neck like a whisper on his skin.

Derek straightened and caressed his face gently, smoothing his fingers and palms over his cheeks and brow and through his hair. Stiles closed his eyes and let himself be spoiled, basking in the attention as Derek purred how beautiful he was.

He stroked his lips with the pad of his thumb. “Such a pretty mouth,” he was saying. “I can’t stop thinking about how amazing it feels, how your pretty little tongue knows just how to make me feel good.”

Stiles flicked his tongue out to lick Derek’s thumb, but it was pulled away quickly.

“Cheeky little monster. You’re not learning, are you?” Derek leaned down so their faces were equal, and Stiles glanced through his eyelashes to see him smiling again.

_Uh oh. Wait._

“Open your mouth,” he instructed, and Stiles swallowed and opened, trepidation slowly creeping in on his smug self-satisfaction. Derek cupped his jaw and held it, three quarters open. “There. Right there. You’re going to keep your mouth open just like this. And if I hear those teeth click together even once, I’ll put a leather bit in your mouth and you’ll really be in trouble. Nod if you understand.”

He did, quickly.

“There we go. You’re starting to get this now.”

_No, he needed to be told he was a good boy_.

Stiles recognized distantly that his wolf was going belly-up, that he was starting to need things he shouldn’t be needing. But the recognition didn’t stop the feeling from twisting up inside him.

“Kneel on the floor and tuck your feet under the bed.”

Stiles slid down, but Derek didn’t step back and didn’t leave him much room. He awkwardly slithered to the floor, gripping the ends of the tie tightly in both his hands, and had to keep his ass pressed firmly against the mattress to avoid brushing against Derek’s legs.

Derek’s thumb came back to his mouth again, petting and circling his lips like a kiss. He moved deeper, running it over the ridges of Stiles’ teeth, along his canines, dragging across his molars. It should have felt weird, but goosebumps were raising on his arms from the pure, simple pleasure of it. He swept back and forth across his tongue as Stiles concentrated on taking long, deep breaths and staying very, very still, waiting for more, wanting this to continue even though he was no longer sure where this was all going.

“Your mouth feels so good,” Derek praised him quietly. “So perfect.” He dragged it down his chin, wetting it with his own spit. Stiles didn’t react, just watched as Derek unzipped over the bulge of his dark gray slacks, leaving his belt buckled. Stiles whined without meaning to, but the sound was pathetic with his mouth hanging open.

“I love how deep you can take it,” Derek was saying as he pulled his cock out, already dark and hard, but Stiles only distantly heard him. His mouth was watering, but he couldn’t close his mouth to swallow. Derek gripped himself in one hand and threaded the other through Stiles’ hair at the roots, making a fist and locking him in place. Stiles twitched in reaction, as if his body was instinctively testing his hold, but even he knew when he was trapped.

“Sometimes I like to imagine you under my desk, taking my cock out like this, sucking me off while I work. I imagine how your lips feel, how you swallow me… how you finally stop talking.” Derek dragged the tip over his cheeks, nudging along his cheekbones and pressing into the skin. He used it to drag over his lips, but Stiles couldn’t move. “You make Daddy feel so good, baby.”

Okay, yes, good, _but_, he wanted to make him feel good _now_.

“You’re so good at sucking my dick, I bet you’d be able to take my whole knot in that mouth. I could fuck your mouth until my knot swelled up, and you’d wrap those pretty lips all the way around it, wouldn’t you? I could cum down your throat and you would just swallow it all for me. You’d look so pretty doing it.”

He’d stroked out the first drops of precum and painted Stiles’ chin, slick with drool he had no control over, and then dragged the wet, salty pad of his thumb slowly over his tongue. Stiles was getting desperate, still whimpering, all his attention focused on what he could be doing with his mouth but wasn’t able to. He needed something in his mouth desperately. At that point, he might have taken the bit. He’d have taken a pen cap if that’s what was offered. Literally anything.

Derek’s hand tilted his head back to look up at his face and dragged his cock up the roof of Stiles’ mouth. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you, baby? You’d do that for me.”

He instinctively went to nod, but immediately realized the error in his plan, so he just tried to make a coherent noise of affirmation from his throat.

“I know you would. I like thinking about that, your lips on my knot.” Derek’s cock stroked over his tongue again and again, and a desperate keening tore from Stiles’ throat. He squeezed the soft fabric in his hands, but the tears began leaking out of his eyes in frustration. He needed something in his mouth like he needed air in his lungs, and it was _so close_.

“You know what I’ve been thinking about all week? When you sucked me off so well that I came all over your pretty face. Remember that, sweetheart? You did such a good job for your Daddy, letting me fuck your throat, swallowing me, then letting me paint your beautiful face with my cum. You know how to make me feel so good, baby, you’re so goddamn good at it.”

Stiles had squeezed his eyes shut, his breath hitching in a half-sob. Derek moved closer, gently set his cock on Stiles’ spit-soaked bottom lip and dragged the underside against it slowly.

He withdrew and repositioned the angle. Stiles felt the tip inside his mouth – he could have closed his lips around it if he’d been allowed to – but it only brushed against the roof of his mouth again. He pulled back, placed the wet underside against his bottom lip and did it again even slower, spreading saliva over Stiles’ reddened nose in the process.

Christ, he needed this to keep going, he needed to get something in his mouth. This was absolutely imperative. Could he die from an oral fixation?

Derek was jacking off with more intention now, fingers brushing centimeters from his face, his pants barely brushing against the underside of his chin, and Stiles whimpered in distress at the idea that Derek would cum without having used his mouth, that he could imagine leaving him so broken and needing. A fresh round of tears leaked out of his eyes.

“You ready for me to fuck your bratty little face?”

Stiles opened his eyes to look up at Derek, his eyes dark, looking down at him with a predatory smile. Stiles quickly made another desperate noise of affirmation.

“Good boy. Show me how good you can use your pretty mouth.”

Derek didn’t release his hair as he pushed in, not giving Stiles time to take a breath before he set a brutal pace, thrusting into the heat of his willing mouth. His relief felt like a tangible thing, flooding through him at having something in his mouth, being able to move his lips and tongue again. He felt like he’d been starving for it.

He looked up at Derek through the tears beaded in his lashes to see his head tilted back, the tendons in his throat standing out as he moaned appreciatively. As if sensing his gaze, he looked down to meet Stiles’ eyes and gave a feral grin, fangs showing.

“Not such a brat now, are we?” he ground out. He lifted one leg and braced his foot against the bed, allowing him even more control as he thrust his hips to meet the tempo he’d set Stiles’ mouth to. Stiles concentrated carefully on his breathing, timing it to the new rhythm beyond his control.

“You gonna swallow it tonight, baby?”

Stiles made an excited noise of affirmation, or something as close as he was able, but Derek seemed to understand nonetheless. Stiles steeled himself and resolved not to gag as Derek ground in against his mouth and gave a few shuddering, pulsing thrusts deep into Stiles’ throat.

Goddamn it, he was the King of Blowjobs.

After a lingering moment, after seeming uninclined to move, Derek pulled out of Stiles’ mouth, still hard, and tucked himself away back in his slacks, oblivious to the dark mess Stiles had made all over the front. He looked down at him fondly and slowly drew his thumb over his swollen-feeling lips. “Your behavior is much better now.”

He stepped back to allow Stiles enough room to scoot forward out from under the bed.

Stiles swallowed. “Are you going to untie me?” he asked, his voice rusty.

“Open your hands.”

Stiles let the ends of the tie go, and it just slid to the floor behind him. He gasped, betrayed, and looked at Derek with narrowed eyes, who just gave a smug cat-in-the-cream smile while turning away to get ready for bed.

“Meanest Alpha ever,” he grumbled after him.

“Without a doubt,” Derek returned easily.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since they work for an ethical organization, all leadership is required to do community service. If you were wondering more about what Derek volunteers for, there are thousands of immigrant workers centers all across the US doing amazing work within exploitative industries like food service and agriculture. These centers educate low-wage and immigrant workers about their labor rights, help them navigate the maze-like citizenship process, and dismantle the root causes of exploitation and oppression. Felt like it’d be up his alley!


	7. Chapter 7

****

There were even more people today than there had been the last three weeks. He let himself in without Erica having to come rescue him, like the last few times, although he definitely felt the razor-sharp edge of her gaze on him when he was taking off his shoes in the nook beside the door. But he was the master of his social anxiety.

His eyes instinctively sought out Derek on the couch. He wasn’t exactly sure how he knew where to find the Alpha in a crowd of what he quickly assessed to be at least over twenty Betas and a generous handful of their human companions. Maybe he had some latent Omega abilities coming in that could pick up his scent.

Derek was sitting on the couch with a baby asleep on his chest, resting in the crook of his neck. A man was curled up sleeping on the cushion beside him, dead to the world, snoring away despite the loud buzz of conversation. Stiles wasn’t good at babies but based on what he’d seen on his friends’ social media accounts, the little creature in gray footie pajamas was probably just a few months old.

“Baby’s first pack meeting?” Stiles asked, coming around the arm of the huge sectional.

Derek smiled up at him, and Stiles didn’t even pretend his stomach didn’t do a triple front flip layout with a quadruple twist at the sight. The baby looked even smaller in comparison to the Alpha’s size, but so tender and safe tucked in the protection of his hand.

“You’re a fucking menace to my sanity,” he grumbled.

Derek extended his free arm up in invitation, and Stiles slid in immediately, tucking up against his side. “I’m glad you made it. Everyone is talking about this mysterious new Omega that’s been gaining my favor.”

“Yeah, sorry I’m late. I had to run to the pharmacy.” 

Stiles rested his head in the curve of his shoulder, looking at the baby’s sleeping face across from him. Gentle wisps of curls were barely visible on her tiny forehead. He reached out and softly stroked the back of her hand, marveling at how soft and smooth and warm she was.

How easy would it be to let himself imagine this? With their own pup, curled like a tiny, perfect porcelain doll on her father’s chest, wrapped in both their arms? Basking in a crystalline moment of exhaustion and love?

“I hate you so much right now,” he hissed up at Derek.

He pressed a lingering kiss to Stiles’ forehead. “I know, sweetheart.”

“She’s beautiful.”

“She’s actually a monster. Her mom and twin sister are at home. She came with her father to give them all a break.”

“You seem to be managing okay. Moonlighting as a werewolf nanny would be a lucrative side hustle for you.”

“It is. Now go be social, Stiles. I have a job to do here.”

He nestled in closer in protest, but Derek just kissed his forehead again and nudged him out.

Stiles wasn’t the only one who was melting at the sight of a dark, brooding Alpha of exceptionable size cradling a tiny pup. More people than Stiles was comfortable commented about how Derek seemed so much calmer lately – not that he wasn’t always the very bastion of self-control, no offense! – and more approachable. A few people directly told Stiles that it was due to his influence, that he must be an anchoring presence in his life. How nice it was to see such an overworked Alpha happy, they said. He was always taking on too much. Never doing anything for himself.

Even one Beta, who’d said she never really liked Derek much at all but only came to pack meetings because her wife did, admitted Derek had been growing on her since Stiles showed up, but seemed to have a different opinion on him. “He always seemed like he was one of those Buddhist monks, you know? Like, on a higher plane than the rest of us, doesn’t have to have emotions because he’s, like, above them? Now it’s easier to see him as… just a wolf, you know? Just one of us.”

“He doesn’t have to be a tragic figure just because he’s has a tragic backstory,” her wife said reproachfully. “He’s allowed to be just like anyone else.”

Another Beta just wanted to talk about video games, so Stiles stuck with him the rest of the night.

As people started to clear out after dinner, it was apparent that Isaac, Erica, and Boyd were lingering. Stiles chafed and gravitated towards Derek as he said goodbye to people at the door. He got a fist bump from one guy out of it and felt perversely proud. 

Jackson came slinking in after everyone had left. “Hey, you’re late!” Stiles said chidingly.

Derek moved between Jackson and Stiles, and Stiles didn’t miss that. “Some of the born wolves get nervous around him,” he explained to Stiles over his shoulder. “But he’s still pack. He’s always welcome.”

“We gonna take this party upstairs?” Jackson asked the group on the couch, shaking the strap of a backpack and eliciting the sound of bottles clinking together. Erica gave a cheer and jumped up, the two guys following close.

Stiles had already left his shoes and overnight bag in the loft, so he stuck close to Derek as he finished closing up. The other Betas chattered their way to the elevator, talking about Jackson running into an ex-coworker who pre-dated Stiles’ employment.

Derek moved swiftly and silently through his tasks, Stiles trailing after him, until he was finally pulling the door shut behind them. Derek paused long enough to pull Stiles close to him, holding Stiles’ face gently in both his hands and leaning down to press a long kiss to his forehead, despite Erica’s protests at them being gross.

“I was very, very proud of you tonight,” Derek whispered in his ear, causing goosebumps to run down his arms. “Thank you for coming.”

Stiles nodded, slipping his hand inside Derek’s as they parted.

“Get in, losers,” Erica called from the elevator.

They went to the top floor, chatting idly on the way. Stiles stepped ahead of the crowd to put his code into the lock, sliding a glance back at Erica after he did so. She was too busy glaring furiously up at Derek to notice Stiles’ glance, but Derek was just looking down his sculpted nose at her with one eyebrow raised like a dare. She made an audible scoffing noise, and Stiles pushed open the door to lead them in.

After using the bathroom, Stiles came out to find Jackson and Isaac setting up rows of shot glasses on the coffee table while Boyd determined which cartoon they were going to use for a drinking game. Erica had plugged in Derek’s phone to the stereo to play music in the meantime while she took boxes of sugary snacks out of Isaac’s backpack.

Derek was sitting on the couch, letting the motion happen around him. Stiles fell in beside him. “Should I help?”

“They’ll figure it out,” he said with a smile. “They do this sometimes.”

Isaac and Erica had disappeared, but Stiles didn’t give him another thought until he heard some thudding from the bedroom. Derek didn't seem to react, so he let it go, because Boyd had found the show they were going to use, and Jackson was opening bottles while they negotiated the rules.

There were only five rows of three shot glasses lined up. When he glanced to the Alpha in query, Derek just motioned Stiles over towards the Betas, his expression warm.

“Hurry up,” Boyd yelled, just before Erica came crashing over the back of the couch, dropping in next to Boyd. Isaac came soon after but slid in politely between Stiles and Jackson without as much fuss.

Jackson had been kind enough to put a lower proof bottle in front of him, while the four of them shared something of a stronger werewolf proof. Derek said there wasn’t much point for him to drink anything but water. 

They were all a few shots in when Stiles pulled his hoodie off, throwing it behind the couch without taking his eyes from the television. Derek slipped his arm behind him to gently hold the back of his neck, his touch light but warm.

“I like your top, Stiles,” Erica said, motioning to the design on his tee. 

Stiles instinctively looked down to see he was wearing his mushroom shirt that declared he had questionable morels and was about to thank her when Derek butted in with a growling, “Thank you, Erica, I have a name.” 

Isaac was on his feet protesting incoherently before Stiles processed the exchange. Jackson got up to go to the bathroom, leaving them all behind with a disgusted shake of his head. Erica and Boyd each took an extra shot. Stiles, his reaction delayed by the wobbliness of his sobriety and the shock that Derek would ever make a joke like that, just felt his face go fire engine red all the way to the tips of his ears and couldn’t really formulate a response.

By the end of the third episode, they had exhausted the tasty snack cakes and bottles of everything Jackson brought. Isaac had whined until Derek had made them all popcorn, and brought out wine, which he begrudgingly put into plastic cups for them.

Stiles was surprised by how great a time he had. Even Erica had thawed towards him as the liquor warmed her mood, becoming downright friendly. Jackson got a little broody but seemed to be buoyed along easily with some friendly encouragement, which Stiles found himself willing to provide.

Finally, Derek got up to shepherd them away and turned off the television. “Let’s go to bed, pups.”

Stiles led the procession, which turned out to be the norm by that point. They all seemed to be happy to follow his lead as easily as they did Derek’s.

It took a moment for Stiles’ poor, fuzzy brain to process what had happened to the bed. It was almost twice the size, with the nightstands carefully moved away to the corners.

Two additional twin beds had been set up along the sides, each the same height, with fluffy covers over them. Everyone had overnight kits laid out that they retrieved and left with.

The Betas had to use the kitchen and guest bathroom sinks, while Derek and Stiles shared the master bathroom. Stiles had already noticed earlier in the evening that only Derek used this bathroom, and that the Betas all used the guest bathroom, even if they had to wait in line.

Stiles slid into Derek’s arms, his head comfortably sloshy and his limbs perfectly loose. “I don’t get you to myself tonight,” he complained.

Derek smiled fondly down at him. “You still with me, baby?”

“Very much,” he confirmed. “I’m sober enough to give full, enthusiastic consent to doing very, very dirty things together, if that’s what you mean.”

A sly grin spread across Stiles’ face as he watched Derek immediately reach into the shower and start the water. It was a totally innocent movement but felt heavy with implications.

Stiles pulled his clothes off quickly, feeling reckless and brave. Derek was slower, and Stiles was suddenly struck by how beautiful Derek was. He moved so gracefully and deliberately, confident in his body, unaware of his intense gaze.

It was like he had been taking for granted how absolutely breathtaking this man really was. He’d started to get used to it. He’d stopped realizing how fit Derek kept himself, how truly powerful he was. When was the last time he really noticed how strong and wide his shoulders were, how the muscles in his back tapered down along his ribs to his tight waist, how the lines of his chest drew his gaze down his stomach, down that perfect deep V, down to…

“Totally sober, huh?”

Stiles jumped in surprise. “Huh?”

“You’ve just been staring at me for, like, five minutes, Stiles.”

He met his gaze. “You’re so beautiful.”

Derek’s expression softened.

“I’m so lucky.”

“Well, that makes two of us then,” Derek said, much more casual than Stiles’ awestruck gasp. “Want me to take care of you?”

“I need you to cum on my dick and jerk me off with your cum,” Stiles said. Some remaining functioning part of his brain cringed on his behalf, but he knew what he was about, and his inhibitions did not give a damn. “Wait. Is that weird? Will that work?”

“Not weird, and we’ll find out.”

“Good. But grip it, like, really, really hard. Rough. And bite me.” 

“If you suck me off a little I’ll be faster.”

Stiles started to drop to his knees, his hands holding Derek’s sides for balance, but Derek grabbed his elbow before he’d gotten very far.

“In the shower, where they won’t hear us,” he clarified. Stiles realized belatedly they had been whispering the whole time, he just hadn’t been sharp enough to notice.

Stiles grinned, finding it both silly and endearing. “Why didn’t I think of that?”

“I’m not sure what you’re thinking at the moment,” he said gruffly.

“Only about you,” Stiles answered, stepping into the shower stall without taking his eyes off him. He moved in the area between the two shower heads as Derek stepped in behind him. Even watching how Derek’s feet moved was entrancing. “Always about you, unless I’m sleeping, and even then I probably still am.”

Derek shot him a quelling glance. “Is your mouth talking or sucking?”

“And that’s why I’m teaching myself deep-throat ventriloquism,” he quipped, but he was already halfway to his knees.

**

Stiles awoke half on his stomach instead of spooning a superheated butt like he should have. He knew the other side of the bed was empty before he reached out, but he did so anyways. Stiles raised his head slightly and blinked, disjointed pieces of his dreams still swimming around his consciousness. “Mmph. Daddy?”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” came a disgusted grumble from behind him. Something heavy moved across the back of his thighs and pressed him down. “No. They all went out for a run. Go back to sleep.”

“Fuck you, Jackson,” he grumbled back, but let his head fall back into the pillow. Not because that’s what he was told to do, because it was his own damn choice to, damn it.

The next time Stiles awoke, he realized that he had been trapped under Jackson’s tail. It twitched slightly in his sleep against Stiles, from where it had slid down to wrap around his ankle.

This time, he knew Derek was back in the loft. “They’re home,” he told Jackson, refusing to move.

“Wuh?” he grumbled. “No.”

“I think I was hit by a truck.”

“You guys look a little worse for wear,” came a smug voice from the doorway. “You missed a good run. If you want, we can go out again with you.”

“Feckoff,” Stiles groused at Isaac.

“Erica and Boyd are going to the diner; do you guys want to go?”

“Is there anything good here?” Jackson asked, his voice quiet to direct it at Stiles.

“I bought some avocados?”

“Yeah, we’re staying,” Jackson decided.

Isaac made an offended noise. “Ugh, gross. Have fun with your garbage slime eggs.”

“Are you talking about Jackson’s balls?” Erica called from in the living room. 

Stiles laughed in spite of himself. Jackson took back his warm, heavy tail and rolled away with a noisy huff. 

**

While Stiles still felt like a giant orange road cone while he was in the kitchen with Derek, Jackson seemed to flow with him like water. They moved around each other with practiced ease, with no speaking necessary. Their silence was comfortable and companionable.

Stiles sat at the bar, watching them both with open contempt as they made breakfast. Derek put thick slices of bread into a cast iron skillet and Jackson knew when to flip them, Jackson had whisked eggs and started them to time perfectly with when Derek was finished preparing the omelet filling, and Jackson cleared things from the counter and put them away without being told that Derek was finished with them.

Jackson knew where everything was better than Stiles did, and Derek had been really devoting time and attention to teaching Stiles how to cook with him and how to use his kitchen, but Stiles wasn’t half as good as Jackson. And Stiles had cooked meals with Derek probably about two dozen times, so what did that say about him and Jackson?

Also, his head hurt. And his face hurt. And his eyes hurt. And his everything hurt.

“Your Omega smells sour,” Jackson murmured at Derek’s shoulder, as if Stiles couldn’t hear just below speaking volume.

Derek glanced back at him with a twitch of his mouth that Stiles knew meant he was hiding a smile. “They do that, from time to time.”

Jackson glanced back and forth between them while slicing an open avocado cradled in his palm, blissfully unaware of the risk of avocado-related knife injuries. “Must be helpful, being a world-renowned expert on them.”

Derek visibly cringed. “I hope not. The only expert you should listen to about an anyone is themselves. Broad, culturally-based generalizations that are generationally socialized into people are one thing, but the care and feeding is definitely another.”

“Cool Ted Talk, bro,” Jackson teased.

“I’ve thought about it,” he admitted honestly. “But I think Lydia would kill me. She needs to keep me corporate and on brand right now.”

“And yet somehow she lets you take your work home with you and fuck it.”

Derek made an amused noise, oblivious to Stiles seething behind him. “She knew perfectly well what she was in for when she hired him.”

Stiles put his chin down on his folded arms and gave them a mutinous look. Derek finished the pour-over coffee that Jackson had started – and forgot to set a timer too, Stiles had noticed, but Derek seemed to have been keeping track of it anyways – and set about walking it straight past where Stiles was impatiently waiting for it, to set it on the table instead. He gave a light pet to Stiles’ neck on the way back, but Stiles forced himself not to acknowledge it.

Derek stopped on his way back into the kitchen and leaned in close. “Don’t try to pretend that you’re not enjoying being waited on hand and foot, little prince,” he whispered in his ear.

Despite all his best efforts, a grin spread across his face in response. He buried it in his arms, refusing to let Derek see. He wanted to stay bitter, damn it.

“It always makes me very happy to know that you have healthy, loving friendships outside of our relationship. I’m glad you and Scott have each other, and that you love and support each other. I’m glad that you go out together and meet new people. I can’t be everything for you, and different people in your life fulfill different roles of support and intimacy, so it’s important you have that network.” Derek touched the back of his aching head gently. “I think we should try to work together to get you to a point where you might feel the same.”

Stiles supposed he hadn’t gotten a meaningful life lesson in a while and was probably due for one regardless.

“Come have your breakfast. You’ll feel better after coffee.”

“Make me.”

Derek ruffled his hair before moving away and leaving him alone. Stiles did suppose he’d have to get up sometime, and he didn’t want to admit it, but it smelled amazing and his stomach was singing a wailing death song.

The couch blanket settled over his shoulders, and Derek wrapped it around him before scooping him easily into his arms. Stiles was too well bundled and couldn’t do anything but be carried along like a helpless burrito. “Breakfast for His Royal Hungover Majesty is served,” Derek proclaimed, his tone light. He settled Stiles down into his chair at the table. It was really only a few steps, but Stiles felt suitably mollified by the gesture, especially as Jackson filled his favorite red mug with coffee and slid it across the table towards him.

It was nice and all, but definitely no more drinking with werewolves.


	8. Chapter 8

“I knew you’d be back, you little brat.”

Stiles stood with a bag of take out and a stupid grin in the darkness. “I knew you’d know.”

Derek sighed heavily in the middle distance. Stiles found the switch – his favorite switch – that only turned on the soft, warm lights at the perimeter of the kitchen area. Those lights always made him feel sexy and mysterious.

God, he never thought he’d have an opinion on lights. Was this part of growing up?

“Are you hungry or do you think you can wait?” Derek’s voice was coming from the vicinity of the couch, but Stiles couldn’t see him as he kicked his shoes off and hung up his Ravenclaw scarf and heavy corduroy jacket.

“Nah, I can wait. That’s cool. I’ll put it in the fridge.”

The benefit of working with Derek for more than six months was that Stiles already knew all the things he ordered from almost every type of restaurant in the area. When Stiles decided on Thai, he already knew Derek hadn’t eaten it in a few weeks, and exactly what he would be craving. Feeling smug about life in general, he tucked everything into the refrigerator before stripping out of his clothes. He threw them in the general direction of the bedroom and checked to make sure his surprise was still securely in place. It had been a secretly perverse ride over, but Stiles had to assume at least a quarter of all passengers had to be wearing butt plugs in ride shares. It was, like, probable, at least.

Going to the couches on the other side of the room, he was prepared for neither of the things he found. The first, that Derek was sprawled back against the arm of the couch in his Beta shift, also completely naked, one arm thrown up over his eyes and his legs splayed wide. The second, that he looked like he’d been stuffed through a garbage disposal. A mottled bruise with streaks of colors that could only be described as a roarange at best, maybe with some bleen, yurple, and gred, covered nearly one full side of his ribs.

Stiles would have shared the pop culture reference with Derek, but he probably wouldn’t have gotten it anyways, and Stiles’ mouth was too busy hanging open in shock at the huge gashes had been put in his thighs, way too close to his junk for Stiles’ comfort. His whole lower body cringed in sympathy. There were bite marks on his calf and forearms. He was more bruise than man.

Derek lifted his arm and glanced up, sensing Stiles distress, and gave a wane smile. “It’s okay; it’s just been a long day.”

“What in the ever-loving fuck?” Stiles demanded, warily approaching.

Derek replaced his arm over his eyes but held the other up in clear invitation.

“What? No! Derek!”

“C’mere, sweetheart.”

Stiles approached hesitantly, cataloging the injuries. They were definitely from another wolf, and from another Alpha if Derek was healing so slowly. All of the open wounds were well clotted, and some were so wide that they may have been previously flayed to the bone. It looked like the primary target had been his soft underbelly, but the attacker hadn’t gotten through.

“What happened?” He sat carefully on the cushions by his knee, angling onto his hip to not disturb the knot plug in his ass that had seemed like such a good idea a half hour ago, but now seemed like it might be going to waste.

His lips curled into a smirk he was trying to fight. “You sound so concerned.”

Stiles was tempted to punch him right in the bruise on his thigh. “Yeah, no shit! You can’t just… look like this!”

“C’mere.”

“No.”

Derek opened his arm again, and Stiles sighed in defeat. “You’re not gonna hurt me, I promise.”

“Only because somebody beat me to it,” he muttered, swinging one leg over Derek’s lap to straddle him. An hour ago, Stiles would have found the position much more appealing, but now it made him a nervous wreck.

Derek pulled him down close, tucking Stiles against his chest and wrapping him in a warm hug. Stiles relaxed into it incrementally, tucking his arms between Derek and the couch carefully. “You could never hurt me,” Derek whispered into his hair.

Stiles could feel his heart beat through his chest, steady and even. _No, never_, his wolf whispered. _Never_.

His hands traced loose and easy patterns over Stiles’ lithe back. “You smell so good.”

“Mm. What do I smell like, Big Bad?”

“Like you’re mine.”

Stiles knew, in some rational part of his mind, that was too close to some truth he didn’t want to give voice to, and he mentally scrambled for some sort of joke to deflect, some cute and chiding warning about not being possessive.

“I am yours.” The words slipped from his lips suddenly. He was afraid his traitorous voice might have continued, said too much and spilled too many confessions that he held so tightly in his heart, but Derek somehow seemed to sense that too many words were about to come between them and silenced them with his own lips.

The glide of their mouths together was hot and slow, even with the addition of fangs. Derek took his time with every motion, as if he deliberately meant to draw it out until Stiles was left a shaking, desperate, needing mess. It was like kissing Derek was beyond anything his brain could process, still something continually new and exciting.

“You're mine,” Derek whispered against his lips.

Stiles shivered hard, despite the heat radiating from Derek’s chest. His hips canted involuntarily, but Derek’s powerful grip tightened.

“Shhh. Nice and slow for me, baby.”

Stiles nodded and took a long breath. He was always vaguely conscious of his body, sometimes feeling like all knees and elbows and rushing, clumsy motions, so Stiles acutely felt every bit of how his body interacted against Derek’s. He moved deliberately and with purpose, slowly kissing down the column of his throat, the thick pelt of his chest, the flexing muscles that strained his abdomen, to settle on the floor between Derek’s feet.

It was shockingly intimate to see him soft. As if it could be possible to be more intimate with someone who’d had his knot inside him – yet here he was. In his shift, his uncut cock seemed even thicker and darker. Stiles carefully avoided the claw marks that must have been inches deep to still be healing, and leaned in carefully, reverently.

“You won’t hurt me,” he said again, his voice a hoarse whisper.

Derek got hard slowly, as if equally unhurried, and Stiles had been afraid for a second that the pain of his wounds might be too much of a distraction and not let him get it up.

He took his time with every motion, drawing long, slow licks up the thick shaft that now looked almost too wide for him to get far into his throat, mouthing softly at his drawn-up sack, nuzzling into the soft fur at the creases of his thighs. He wasn’t trying to get Derek off, he was only trying to make him feel good. Make him feel cared for. He used his mouth and hands in tandem, keeping him slick with saliva and in slow, constant motion.

He’d never heard Derek be more vocal. His hand sifted through Stiles’ hair restlessly, motions punctuated by heavy, open-mouthed exhales, deep, closed-mouth hums, and hissing inhales. Derek’s words were simple, encouraging, thoughtless.

There was something intensely and deeply satisfying about giving his Alpha that much pleasure. His wolf preened and glowed with pride, smug and satisfied in a way Stiles hadn’t thought possible. He was the one taking care of Derek, making him feel good, giving him what he needed when it always felt like it was so often the other way around.

“Stiles.”

The way he said his name felt like something beyond anything they’d done together. It wasn’t a pet name. It was past their usual playing; past what Stiles had thought must be a casual and easy thing for Derek. It was his actual name. It was him. It was real.

Stiles reached down and easily removed the slippery plug he’d worked his way up to earlier that evening, letting it fall wet and forgotten onto the floor, probably to be found again at the most embarrassing and inopportune moment humanly possible. But Stiles let it go and carefully began to climb up.

“We’ll go slow,” Stiles promised in a whisper, covering him and straddling his hips. He reached down to guide Derek’s cock inside of him and realized with some trepidation that the plug he’d selected had been too small for this.

The veins on Derek’s arm grew black and the feeling of being stretched open disappeared, but Stiles clamped his hand over his forearm. “No,” he said sternly. “No, I like it. I want it. Don’t take it.”

Derek nodded absently and let his hand fall, smoothing over Stiles’ thigh instead. His head dropped back onto the pillows with a low, growling moan.

Stiles took the chance to mouth at Derek’s neck, more ghosting his teeth over his skin rather than biting. He felt the vibration in the Alpha’s throat as he continued to press down, impossibly slowly. It did hurt, but only distantly, behind the pleasure; Stiles hadn’t been lying when he said he wanted it.

It felt like hours before he was finally seated. The inhalation of Derek’s sigh expanded his chest to what felt like twice its size, lifting Stiles. The exhale was like music to his ears.

He just rocked gently, grinding in without lifting. Derek immediately responded, moaning and opening his legs wider, head pushing back more deeply into the cushion. Stiles continued, marveling at what had to be the most beautiful and awe-inspiring sight of his life. He had done this to an Alpha. He realized distantly that this was the first time that sex hadn’t been all about Stiles. This really was just for Derek.

He continued rocking and set an easy rhythm, prepared for the long haul and knowing that Derek had the stamina to go for six days straight, so he was taken completely by surprise when Derek’s hands tightened on the bunched muscles of Stiles’ thighs after just a few minutes of slow, measured rolls of his hips.

“Ah, fuck! Stiles!”

Derek reached up and hauled Stiles down, crashing him against his chest and connecting their mouths. Stiles opened to his tongue, letting him assault his mouth while he came deep inside him, pulsing and twitching, grinding up against Stiles in equal measure.

His wolf howled inside of him. _Look what you did for your Alpha_.

Stiles remained close, even as Derek released him from the bruising kiss, holding their foreheads together.

“Do you…” Derek started, but Stiles shook his head firmly.

“I’m good,” he said earnestly. “That was good.”

“That was good,” he echoed softly, his voice distant.

Stiles leaned up to stroke his hands through the hair on Derek’s chest and was surprised to see the bruise that had to have been broken ribs a few hours ago had completely faded. He lifted one leg to find the gashes on Derek’s thighs had disappeared, the bites likewise gone.

But Derek was already asleep, softening inside him. Neck exposed, arms wide, shifted back to his perfect, beautiful, manly self.

Stiles realized how little he actually knew him. But felt like maybe he understood him a little bit more.

**

Stiles awoke with a start. He’d intended to stay up, keep guard over Derek while he slept, but at some point, he’d tipped over and been wrapped in a quilt. Derek was gone from the other end of the couch and Stiles jumped up in a panic.

There was a tapping on the glass. He could barely make out Derek’s frame in the moonlight, naked in the night air on the balcony. He rubbed his face quickly and fumbled with his phone – not even midnight – and scurried out.

“Are you okay?” he demanded. The cold air nipped his naked heels and the bamboo tiled boards were freezing under his feet. He pulled the quilt tighter around him, suddenly aware of how still and quiet it must have been before he’d brought all his noise and frantic energy into it.

Derek gazed at him in the darkness for a quiet moment before reaching out to cup his face. “You’re so beautiful.”

He flicked his eyes up impatiently. If Derek had said anything even remotely disparaging, it would have cut him to the quick in the deepest and most unrecoverable way, but because it was a genuine compliment, it just rolled off him like water off a duck’s back. “Please tell me what happened.”

“Nothing sinister, just sparring practice. Even Alphas need to be let of their leash sometimes.”

“That was _on purpose_?”

“Mm. That was twins, actually.”

“Holy shit. Did you win?”

“Stiles, sparring isn’t about winning, it’s about connecting with your instincts and honing your skills and pushing your boundaries.”

“That sounds like something a winner would say.”

Derek just gave a knowing smile and rubbed his neck affectionately.

Stiles shuffled close and leaned against him like a limp burrito. “Why didn’t you tell me not to come?”

“First of all, I didn’t invite you,” he reminded him, but his tone was just the tiniest bit of amused instead of chiding. “Second of all, would you have listened?”

He huffed, his breath coming out in a white puff of indignation. “If you’d had a good reason. Or if you said you weren’t home.”

“I would never lie to you. I never have.” Derek wrapped his arms around him, pulling him against his chest, still hot despite the temperature. Stiles could swear it smelled like snow in the air. “I wanted you here.”

That much honestly might have cost Derek nothing, but was worth everything to Stiles. His heart felt constricted.

“This isn’t just…” Stiles cleared his throat. “We’re, like… together, aren’t we?”

“Hmm. Have you worked it out yet? What we are?”

Stiles closed his eyes and pushed his face into the hollow of Derek’s shoulder. He smelled fresh from the shower, like cold air and that earthy, dark, pine-needle-soil-vetiver-campfire scent that was uniquely his Alpha. He smelled like promises and lifetimes. Like a thousand tiny moments. He smelled like _his_. “I’ll let you know.”

**

Before Stiles left the office for the day, Derek pushed a handful of twenties into his hand while he gave him a chaste good-bye kiss. “Grab some vegetables for stir fry,” he said. “I’ll be home at six.”

“This is a lot for just vegetables,” he pointed out helpfully.

“You said you wanted cheesecake for breakfast this morning. Maybe if you get some you can have it tomorrow.”

Stiles perked up. “I can stay over?”

“I didn’t clear out that whole bureau for nothing.”

Stiles lifted his hand for a celebratory high five, which Derek rudely left hanging with a sideways look. “I’m gonna run home and get more stuff! Like, all my underwear. And DVDs, will it fit DVDs?”

Derek’s eyebrows took an exasperated tone with him. “You can just keep DVDs in the living room.” 

“Oh yeah. Duh. Maybe you can help me pack tomorrow.”

“Are you assuming you’re moving in with me now?”

“I sleep better when you read to me before bed.”

“You can call me if you really need.”

“It’s not the same. And I don’t even think Scott would notice.”

“He would. He loves you. And he’s enjoying his time with Allison just as much as you enjoy time with me, so I think you two still need to work out a few things.”

Stiles chafed at the bluntness and made nondescript grumbles.

“Google ‘cupcaking’,” he advised. “I’ll see you later.”

**

“Is everything okay?” Derek answered in lieu of a proper greeting.

“There’s a dude sitting on your car.”

“Yeah. That happens. What does he look like?”

“Um. Exactly like the Alpha that harassed me in the deli. Because it is. He’s got a bunch of dudes with him.”

“Where are you?”

“Inside the bakery. I haven’t gone out.”

Stiles barely caught the sound of a sigh. “I want you to walk out and hand him your phone. Don’t say anything to him, you understand? Not before, not after. You hand him the phone, you take it back, and you drive away.”

Stiles hesitated.

“Stiles. Do not say _anything_. Do you understand?”

“I guess.”

“There is no guessing here.”

Stiles gazed out into the parking lot. One of the other guys milling around spat near the tire. Stiles grimaced in open disgust. “I won’t say anything.”

“Deep breaths. Stay calm. Don’t let your heart rate get up. I’ll be on the other line the whole time. Nothing will happen to you.”

“Easy for you to promise now,” he grumbled.

“You can do it, baby.”

Stiles took a few deep, long breaths to try to quell the riot of his heart. “You owe me for this.”

“I do,” Derek agreed.

_Cheesecake for breakfast_, Stiles reminded himself, and pushed open the jingling door. _Cheesecake eaten off Derek Hale’s abs. _He strode across the parking lot towards Derek’s car, but the jerks didn’t even notice him until he was practically standing on their toes.

The Alpha jumped to his feet off the hood of the car, looking confused, and Stiles pushed the phone out towards him. He took it, his ugly bully-face absolutely perplexed, and held it hesitatingly to his ear.

He listened for a long moment, eyes averted from Stiles as Stiles stared unflinchingly at him. The three other men he was with shuffled uncertainly behind him, moving closer together, and Stiles wished desperately for the umpteenth million time in his life had their hearing ability.

Finally, the Alpha hung up the phone, handed it back to Stiles, stuffed his hands in his pockets, and… just walked off into the sunset.

Stiles stared after him. Whatever the fuck just happened, they were just sauntering away like it hadn’t.

He got in, putting the cheesecake on the passenger floor, and sat for a long minute until he got himself back under control, letting that postponed adrenaline rush work its way through his twitching limbs. Was it too late to hang out the window and yell at them?

_Nope. Cheesecake for breakfast off Derek Hale’s ass._

**

There were two men in dark clothes just entering the elevator as Stiles came careening in, a canvas bag stuffed with garden-fresh goodness slung over his shoulder along with his ridiculously heavy backpack, cake box in his hands. He caught the distinctive smell of ozone from the men that always seemed to follow magic users and he lingered uncertainly, but they’d already spotted him.

He stepped in with them like he was a normal dude in an elevator with other normal dudes, scooting over to the side. The eighth floor – Derek’s floor – was already lit up. _What the fucking hell was today_. “Five, thanks,” he said with his best casual-dude-smile that dudes smiled at other dudes. 

The guy with a beanie on leaned over to appraise his haul. “Oh, hey, that’s the bakery next to Whole Foods.”

“My girlfriend loves these,” Stiles explained casually.

“Yeah, mine goes bonkers for their lemon merengue,” one of the goons said with a loose grin. “Those good?”

“Yeah, man. They have them sometimes with blackberry, those are the shit.”

The goon’s shiny headed companion elbowed him discreetly, but the door to the fifth floor slid open. Stiles gave a dude-like nod of acknowledgement like a normal dude gave to other normal dudes and stepped out, heading casually down the hallway like he knew exactly where he was going without glancing back over his shoulder or at any of the apartment numbers on the doors. He continued on, his steps picking up pace after the elevator closed behind him, until he crashed through the stairwell door and took off as fast as he was able up the stairs.

The elevator beat him by more than he wanted to admit. It’d been a long time since lacrosse, a sport he’d abandoned in his first year of college to pursue padding out his Freshman Fifteen full-time. He was built for comfort; not for speed.

He put the groceries on the cement stair landing of the eighth floor and peeked in through the very bottom of the narrow glass window. The two men were speaking at Derek, their posture and gestures threatening, but Derek was just gazing at them with his usual cool, aloof eyebrows. This seemed to infuriate them even more, and the bald one gave Derek’s shoulder a push. Beanie pulled him back with some measure of wariness. Stiles tried pressing his ear against the metal core door, but he was getting nothing.

Derek uncrossed his arms and looked concerned. He spoke to them for a long moment, and Baldie seemed to visibly calm, and then relax. Derek walked with them to the elevator, one hand resting on Beanie’s shoulder as they waited for the door to slide open.

With that, he’d talked them down off their ledge, and they both got in the elevator. Derek waited until the doors closed, watching the lights at the top start their countdown, and finally looked over at Stiles.

He waved.

Derek’s eyebrows rolled their eyes and he came over to let him in. “If you wanted to be clever, you should have gone all the way up and come into the apartment through the roof access. You would have heard the whole thing.”

Cursing internally, Stiles collected up his floor food. “Yeah, but that’s a lot more stairs.”

“We’re going to have to cancel your appearance on Ninja Warrior then?”

He handed the cheesecake over for Derek’s safekeeping. “Probably for the best.”

Derek led him back into the apartment. “Only one backpack?”

“There’s more in the car. This is just the first trip. But you now owe me multiple explanations.”

“Mm. Am I going to get any peace until I tell you?”

“Not one second.”

Derek put the cheesecake on the counter and turned to take the grocery bags. Stiles obstinately didn’t give them up until Derek’s eyebrows took a tone with him, and he released the handles.

“Sometimes Alphas will recognize another Alpha’s scent in an area they like to haunt, especially on cars or bikes, and want to either meet them or fight them, depending on the Alpha. They weren’t expecting an Omega to come out, they were expecting me. So, I just informed them of the state of the situation they found themselves in and told them what would happen if they didn’t remove themselves from the situation.”

“What did you say?”

Derek turned from where he’d been sorting out vegetables and reached out to cup Stiles’ face under his chin. He looked fondly at him for a moment. “I told them they did not even know the ancient blood rites I would invoke on anyone who so much as touched you, and there is no sacrifice I would not make in this world to destroy anything that would ever threaten you,” he said, his warm expression a jarring comparison to the weight of his words.

Stiles stood with his mouth agape, completely unable to formulate a response. His thoughts were a basic approximation of incoherent screaming.

Derek just smiled and patted his cheek, turning back to the counter. “The two men you met in the elevator were emissaries who wanted to speak about some money they erroneously felt was owed to their pack from pack membership dues for some new members who recently switched. I corrected their assumption, but I understand their pack is struggling, and I would see what could be done to help. Also, something that happens occasionally.”

“That was… it? ...Seriously?”

Derek nodded. “No zebra hooves. A lot of pack administration is really boring, Stiles. This kind of thing just happens. Big cities don't have the clear territory lines like smaller towns do, sometimes toes get stepped on.”

“You swear?”

“I have never lied to you. Satisfied yet?”

Stiles considered. “For now.”

“Good. Come be my sous chef.”

**

Stiles lingered at Derek’s office door. He’d been lounging at his desk waiting for Derek to finish his work, playing on his phone and passing time, but he’d ran out of stamina in his game and was bored again.

“Why don’t we ever go out to eat?” he asked.

Derek looked up from his monitor. “Do you want to?”

“I don’t know. We never really go out.”

“Okay. Do you want to?”

He sighed with the exasperation of needing to actually say what he wanted. “Yes.”

“Good. Did you have something in mind?”

“Pitas.”

Derek didn’t spare him another glance and went back to his screen.

Stiles cackled. “Okay! Fine! That new Italian place, a few blocks from here. They’re not open for lunch, so I haven’t tried them, but Isaac said he liked it.”

“If it makes you happy,” Derek conceded, and closed his laptop.

Stiles scurried to grab his stuff and get suited up to go outside. It was way too cold for autumn in California. He felt like he was only ever warm in the shower or in Derek’s bed.

Derek was pulling his peacoat over his suit jacket. He was wearing one of his client-facing outfits, a handsome heathered gray three-piece suit with a bluish-silver tie that made Stiles swoon.

He sidled in before Derek had buttoned his coat and slid his arms around his waist, burrowing inside.

“You look really good today,” Stiles purred. “Glad I’ll get to show you off a little.”

“I still think you should come see my tailor.”

“It’d be weird though if I were trying to look as good as you. We’d have to share bathroom space in the morning, you’d have to convert the guest bedroom into a walk-in closet, I’d always be stealing your hair gel…” He clicked his tongue. “Nah, I’ll stick to my roots.”

“Your roots haven’t really spread since high school, little sapling.”

Stiles acknowledged this with a playful squeeze. “Fine. Then I just don’t want to pay to renew my passport. You know, I’ve been meaning to get a sugar daddy to do all that kind of stuff for me. One who can afford to put me up in a brownstone, maybe…” 

Derek ran his fingers over Stiles’ scalp, soothing it before he suddenly tightened his grip and pulled his head back to expose his tender neck. Derek buried his face there, teasing a bite, and Stiles let an embarrassingly high-pitched noise slip out.

“If you’re just going to keep being a yappy little brat, I’m going to put you against this wall and fuck you so hard you won’t walk straight afterwards. So, either you’re gonna be bouncing on my cock for an hour like a filthy little slut pup, or I’m going to treat you to a romantic dinner. You better pick one.”

“You’re a mean Daddy,” Stiles grumbled.

“I am. Everyone else is already gone. What’s it going to be then?”

**

Derek gave a sniff as they walked into the restaurant. “Ah. I can see why Isaac likes this place,” the Alpha said mildly. It was really nice, small and dimly lit, with actual tablecloths and real candles. It was early enough that it was only moderately busy. After confirming they were a party of two with the host, they were led to a table in the front, close to the window.

They took off their coats and Stiles silently settled in to watch Derek methodically cuff his pristine white shirtsleeves and roll them up to his forearms, like it wasn’t The Most Daddy thing Stiles could imagine. He glanced up at Stiles as he adjusted his Breitling and winked.

Then Stiles realized what Derek had meant by his earlier comment as a petite blonde Omega sidled up to their table, rattling on and holding out a menu to Derek. She had big luminous eyes with a cute Natalie Dormer face with a clever little fox smile that Stiles could definitely being just Isaac’s type. But, apparently, Derek was exactly _her_ type, so sucked to be Isaac.

She was listing out that night’s specials, interspersed with what she undoubtedly thought were quirky little quips, somehow completely oblivious to the fact she was still holding the menu out to Derek the whole time. Because this wasn’t a fucking stereotypical Omega trope. Derek glanced at Stiles, his eyebrows trying and failing not to laugh. Fuming, Stiles reached over and took the menu from the waitress. She startled, as if she had legitimately not seen him.

“Waters to start, please,” he cut in.

The girl glanced quickly at Derek. “Water for you?”

“Two waters,” Stiles clarified needlessly.

“Yes, of course.” She gave one last long, lingering look to Derek, and scurried away. Stiles didn’t fail to notice that she was glancing over her shoulder, clutching the menu that was supposed to be Stiles’ to her chest in a tight hug.

“Don’t even say it,” Stiles snapped.

“I wasn’t going to say anything.”

“You were going to say that this is why we never go out.”

Derek reached across the table to take his hand, but Stiles could tell there was a little smirk hiding on his face. Begrudgingly, Stiles twined his fingers into his. Derek then opened his mouth slightly, paused, took a long inhale through his nose, and huffed with disgust. “No shrimp tonight.”

“Aren’t you handy,” Stiles said grouchily.

“I can be, if you like.”

“I already know what we’re getting, anyways. I looked at the menu online.”

The waitress was back in record time with their waters. Stiles could tell Derek had been about to say something before the stink-shrimp distracted him. “Are you ready to order, sir?”

“The apple spinach salad with a glass of Spatlese, and the pan seared duck breast with a glass of Grenache. Drinks with the meal,” Stiles barked out, not bothering with even a ‘please’.

She looked at Derek for confirmation, but Derek continued to watch the barely checked jealousy turning Stiles’ face into a prune with open amusement.

“Definitely! Right away!” she promised, taking the menu and spinning around with a swing of her hips. Stiles watched her roll her hips all the way back to the kitchen. He then turned his ire back to the cause of it all and glared.

Derek squeezed his hand. “You can be mad all you like, but I’m still glad to be here with you. Thank you for telling me what you wanted.”

He made a grumbling noise. This kind of thing probably happened to Alphas all the time.

“What were you going to say?” Stiles asked with a heavy sigh, aware they weren’t going to get that interrupted moment of genuine connection back, knowing that trying and failing would just continue to make him feel more irritated.

Derek’s smile knew it too. “I was going to say, I know it’s difficult to have empathy for other people’s perspectives, especially when their views conflict with your own, but I’m still proud you try.”

Stiles’ mouth hung open. “That’s not fair at all.”

Derek’s eyebrows made it clear he knew exactly what he had done.

“Are you shaming me into being understanding? Like, have you met me, though?”

He squeezed his hand. “Did you call your dad last night? How is he? Is Buster feeling better?”

“Yeah, I did. He’s bringing the cat to the vet on Saturday. But it’s still weird that you guys talk.”

“Still? Your father and I haven’t gone a month without speaking since you were in middle school. I’m not sure I would have made it through college without him.”

Stiles blinked owlishly at him. “_My_ dad? Sheriff of Beacon Hills? The Stilinski paterfamilias? You’re sure?”

Derek stroked his thumb across his knuckles, considering for a moment. “I spent my teenage years being angry at the world. Angry at humans, angry at people I thought had a better life than me, angry about what I’d lost, angry at myself, most of all. I never thought I would ever stop being angry. It was all I had. All my rage and fury and hurt just pushed away the people I needed most and attracted the kind of people I needed the least. But Noah stuck with me. We had all the same arguments, sometimes even weekly I think, about fairness and justice and the nature of man and wolf. But he kept having them.”

Stiles smiled softly. “Yeah, that sounds like him.”

“When I finally began to recover and began to take on my responsibilities, he helped me stay connected to Beacon Hills, told me what was happening there, and gave support when he could as I began to establish myself here. In return, I give him information, connections, favors with no questions asked. Sometimes I even gave advice about his delinquent son.”

“Yeah, that pissant always caused us trouble,” Stiles said with a smirk.

“The Hale fire was one of his first cases as Sheriff,” he said easily, as if there was no weight to his words. “At first, I thought he felt sorry for me, or guilty. But that never factored into it. Your father is a kind man, and he always chooses the right thing, even when it might not benefit him. I’m so proud you take after him.”

Stiles blushed furiously and looked away. “Yeah, he’s cool, I guess. But… how did you stop being angry? Was it… was it because of my dad?”

He offered a small sort of smile. “No. Your father is a good person, but that was something I had to do on my own. But I think that’s a story for another day. How’s Scott?”

“In love. Hey, didn’t you say you were going to tell me about your tattoos?”

“First of all, they’re not tattoos. They’re brands. You know this. And second of all, I definitely never did.”

Their conversation flowed easily, Stiles speculating at potential meanings or scenarios, and Derek seeming content to let him ramble and guess while offering no contributions of his own. Their food came in what had to be record time for any restaurant, marking the return of Stiles’ supreme irritation.

An irritation which had just put on fresh pink lipstick and was carrying their plates up both arms like she was in a sexy cirque du soleil. He low-key hated how effortlessly graceful she was. “Thank you so much for being so patient,” she was gushing – ignoring the fact that she had barely been gone long enough for the meat to cook. Stiles suspected they’d gotten someone else’s food that had been prepared before theirs.

“This one is one of my favorites,” she was saying as she set the duck in front of Derek with a deft twist of her wrist, positioning it perfectly in the center. “I made sure the chef knew it was for an Alpha, so I know it’s perfect.”

“Actually, this one is mine,” Derek corrected, reaching out to take the salad that she had set in front of Stiles as an afterthought.

The waitress became visibly flustered. “Oh! Yours? Um. Oh. Um! Hold on, I’m just noticing…” She didn’t finish but snatched the plate from the table and practically ran back to the kitchen.

“Are you kidding me with this shit?” Stiles demanded in a hiss. “I’m an Omega, so I’m the one who gets the salad? Because _I’m_ the walking stereotype right now?”

“Still not saying anything,” Derek reminded him.

He rolled his eyes. “Fine. What was wrong with it?”

“It had an extra tablespoon of salt on it. Maybe someone is being a little too salty to our waitress?”

Stiles pointed his finger at him in anger, but the gesture lost its impact when Derek couldn’t hold in a laugh and his face slipped. As if it were contagious, Stiles finally laughed too. 

Derek lifted his wine glass. “To going out for once,” he offered kindly.

Stiles sighed ruefully but mirrored the gesture. “To going home after.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Even though I like to secretly imagine Derek chomping down peyote buttons in a mud hut in the desert and becoming one with the cactus, the reality is there is no magic bullet. He had to go to therapy and put his time in to make it work, just like everyone else. And true to real life, he probably had to go to multiple therapists before he found one he could successfully work with.  
For whoever needs to hear this right now: if you’ve had a poor experience in therapy, please give it another chance. Please find someone new and try again. I promise there are good people out there who’ll work with you to help you work towards your goals.


	9. Chapter 9

A tornado came through Stiles’ door, slamming its way through without warning. It was lipstick and fury and an oversized flannel jacket, and it was on its way to Derek’s office.

A woman with chestnut hair, loose and wild around her face, stopped short mid-stride and turned fully to look at Stiles. Her dark blue eyes raked over him harshly, brash and undisguised, cutting through him to his core and missing nothing. He felt stripped naked and the sensation made him instinctively flinch away, made him want an Alpha to hide behind. Her inspection might have lasted a second or ten minutes, but as suddenly as it began, it ended. He knew on some instinctual level that he had been judged and found wanting.

“Absolutely fucking not!” she shouted, striding into Derek’s office like she owned the place.

He couldn’t hear Derek’s response, only felt the subsonic growl inside of his chest as it rattled the walls.

Stiles jumped up and went towards the door, only beating Isaac by milliseconds as he came barreling through the main door. Derek was standing perfectly calmly, arms crossed over his chest, just barely an arms distance away from the woman as she stood already wolfed out, terrifying red eyes flashing above her jutting muzzle. Her claws were out as she crouched as if ready for an attack. She looked up and locked eyes immediately onto Stiles.

Jackson was suddenly in front of him, forcefully manhandling him behind his back and keeping him there firmly with one arm. Stiles was too focused on the tableau inside Derek’s office to even have seen Jackson approach, but distantly registered that it was Jackson who rushed in to protect him, out of every possible option available.

“Laura,” Derek said calmly. “You’re a long way from your territory.”

She turned away from Stiles and straightened her posture only marginally. “I needed to know why my little brother was rejecting my Emissary request for myself,” she said around her fangs, sneering. “Now I see why.”

Jackson was crowding Stiles behind him, moving him away from the door. Stiles tried to squeak in protest but saw Isaac had moved aside as well. Lydia came striding in, strawberry blond fury wrapped in a printed silk scarf, walking fearlessly into the den of angry werewolves.

Erica and Boyd joined their gathering at their Alpha’s door, crowding in behind Stiles, who had grabbed hold of Jackson’s shoulders to leverage himself to a better point of view.

“Laura Hale, I never thought I’d see you darken my doorstep again. Clearly security has gotten too complacent lately.”

Laura sneered. “I go where I want.”

“Tsk. I see that you think you do. I will give you one chance to walk away now, and never come to my place of business again. This is where the grown-ups work, sweetheart.”

“Fuck you!”

Lydia crossed her arms and drew herself up, looking down at Laura even from the height disadvantage. “I’ve heard your mother weep with disappointment for you. Even beyond, she watches you, and she is _ashamed_.”

Jackson pushed Stiles backwards as Laura gave a wall-shaking roar, made louder in the cramped confines of the thickly-walled room, and charged towards Lydia teeth first.

Stiles gripped Jackson’s blazer tightly, and the blond man swung one arm back to sweep him closer behind him, drawing Stiles tight against his back and moving him towards the center of their grouping..

Stiles couldn’t see what happened, but it felt like his ears popped, and then started ringing faintly. Then there was only silence. He felt slightly dizzy. The others around him seemed to relax, so he followed their lead and took his hands from Jackson. 

“I’m sorry, Lydia,” Derek said, beyond their range of sight.

“It’s okay,” she answered breathlessly. “I’m seriously out of practice. Maybe I should take you up on those sparring sessions.”

“Everyone would be glad to have you. Are you all right?”

“Completely. Better than she is on a good day. I hadn’t realized how out of control she’s gotten.”

“I should have,” he said bitterly. “She’s been making unofficial requests outside of Emissary channels, leveraging her position against smaller packs for money, for resources…” He trailed off with a sigh.

“Her addiction is a disease. This isn’t her fault. Or yours.”

Stiles peeked in. Derek was curled protectively around Lydia, cradling her in his huge arms and holding her head in one hand. She was leaning against his chest, gazing at Laura’s prone form, hands limply at her sides. 

“Let’s get back to work, lazybones,” he said gently, leaning back to look down at her, one hand still cupping her head below the ear. She looked more than a little flattered at the attention and gave him a cheeky smile, tucking a nonexistent stray hair back from her temple. The height difference, even mitigated by her sky-scraper-high heels, made her look like the damsel on a romance book cover being swept away by her dark and mysterious suitor.

Stiles didn’t know if he wanted to kill her or be her.

She abruptly turned to the door to see the whole cluster of them standing there, watching the spectacle. She yanked back from Derek’s hand and rolled her eyes. “Pack animals,” she scoffed, moving to shoulder past them. “Where’s Liam with my tea?”

Derek summoned in Erica. “She’s going to be out for at least a few hours. Get her on her side and stay with her while Jackson and I find her entourage. They have to be close. Isaac, stay with Stiles and don’t leave him until we can assess the threat. Boyd, you have work to do on the university consultation proposal.”

Boyd immediately started to protest, but Erica cut him off with a shoulder to his chest, snickering.

Derek hesitated only momentarily by Stiles on his way out. “I’ll be back soon,” he promised, and breezed out with Jackson.

“Let’s work in the conference room,” Isaac suggested after they’d cleared out. Only Erica remained, sitting on the floor typing furiously on her phone without even glancing at them. “You can proof the pages Boyd has done.”

“Yes. Because this is a normal workday. Doing normal workday things in my place of work.”

“If you’re gonna be a jerk about it, nobody says you have to be pack,” Erica growled from Derek’s floor.

“You’re not weirded out, like, _at all_?”

Erica glared up at him, sharply dropping her phone towards her lap. “There are lots of people from Beacon Hills who moved and joined Derek’s pack instead of Laura’s, _for a reason_. You think this is the first time Laura has pulled some kind of batshit crazy shit on us? Or on Lydia? We’ve all been with Derek for a lot longer than _you_ have. This is nothing to us.”

Stiles bit back his instinctual sarcastic reaction. Something Derek had said in their fancy dinner date the week before floated through his awareness. About sympathies and other people’s perspectives. About how kind his dad was. About how he took after him. _Aw, shit. He’d done an Alpha thing to him. _

Stiles sighed. “I’m sorry you’ve had to deal with her for so long,” he said instead of the epic telling-off that was already composing itself in his mind. “It looks like it’s been difficult on everyone.”

Erica stared at him, her expression not changing. “It has been,” she stated flatly, and looked back down at her phone, done with him. Laura twitched on the carpet, like a dog running in dreams.

** 

Derek found them in the conference room. Boyd had joined them, and they had gotten some productive work done, but both Betas had outright refused to engage with Stiles in any conversation about Laura or Derek.

“Pack it up, everyone. We’re calling it a day.”

“Is it all over?” Stiles asked.

“One of my Emissaries is taking Laura home,” he said, which wasn’t an answer at all.

Stiles lingered as Boyd and Isaac cleared out, moving close to Derek instead of gathering his things. 

“Can… Did Lydia really hear your mom?”

Derek smiled softly, his eyebrows looking slightly sad. “She’s a Banshee, sweetheart, not a Ouija board. She was pushing Laura’s buttons. The two of them are exceedingly skilled at that. C’mon. I’ll drive you home for the day.”

“No, I want to stay in the loft tonight,” he argued.

“I’m going to have people in and out for the rest of the day. You’ll get more rest in your own home.”

He shrugged. “Maybe. But that doesn’t change my mind, so whatever. Bring me to the loft now or it’ll end up on your credit card later anyways.”

**

People had come and gone for the rest of the evening, as promised. Many of them entered and left through the door directly going to Derek’s office, but a few of them passed through the main part of the house to greet Stiles. He did his best happy assistant routine, making coffee and offering drinks or snacks to visitors. Some of them were older werewolves, and some were people Stiles were sure were Emissaries, who all seemed very interested in meeting him.

Derek finally emerged at half past nine, coming down the stairs to find Stiles eating a grilled cheese at the table with his laptop open the Beacon Hills Tribune website, already a few years back in the online archives.

“I made you a sandwich,” Stiles offered. Derek wordlessly pressed a kiss to his forehead and went to the kitchen, eating it standing. He reheated a leftover couscous salad and sat next to Stiles. Stiles rather perversely liked that they had exchanged seats.

“For someone who seems like she gets in trouble a lot, Laura doesn’t pop up in the news much.”

Derek glanced at his screen. “I take it you didn’t look up their staffers?”

“I had a suspicion. Pack takes care of their own.”

He nodded and wordlessly ate. He looked exhausted, in a way Stiles had never seen him look. His shoulders seemed lower, his posture just a few degrees off. He was always so strong and steady, and it tugged at Stiles’ heart to see him looking so worn down.

Stiles closed his laptop as Derek finished his couscous. Stiles cleared the table wordlessly, washing the dishes before returning. Derek extended his hand across the table as Stiles sat back down, and he took it willingly.

“There’s a lot you don’t know about what happened in the Beacon Hills Hale pack after the fire. It took Laura a while to reestablish herself. My mother’s pack had already broken apart into smaller ones, and nobody transitioned easily to Laura at first. She was young, and weak, and struggling.

“But, she was still a Hale, and she had a lot of support from other established packs, and she was starting to succeed. She had a respectable sized pack, support from prominent elders, a few willing emissaries; she was turning it around. But our uncle disagreed that my sister should be the primary Beacon Hills Alpha, and he challenged her. He lost. But the injuries she sustained in the fight never healed. There isn’t much that can be done for the type of pain she endures, but there are a lot of drugs that make it easier for her.”

Stiles connected that back to his conversation with Lydia. He’d already suspected that was where the story was going.

“I’m sorry,” he managed, the words feeling small and inadequate even as they left his mouth.

Derek gave a shrug. “It’s the reality we live with. You were just presenting around the time all this was happening, you’d have had no way of knowing.”

“You don’t want to be the Beacon Hills Alpha? Seems like she’s not doing that a good job.”

“I don’t think I’d be a good fit there,” he said with a wry twist of his mouth. “Different types of dynamics that would take a lot of work and effort to try to change. My sister doesn’t allow Omegas in her pack.”

“That can’t be true.”

Derek just gazed evenly at him.

“Well, if it is, any Omega I know wouldn’t want to anyways; she’s terrifying.”

Derek tilted his head. “Stiles, you grew up in Beacon Hills. You never wondered _why_ you were never invited to the pack when you first presented?”

He shrugged. “I know why. I just wasn’t a good fit, so they never recruited me. Scott and I were both weren’t, and he’s a Beta. I don’t think it had to do with me being an Omega.”

“Scott _was_ invited. Dozens of times. He turned them down because you couldn’t join with him. He had to literally fight them off.”

Stiles felt dazed. He had to sit with that information a minute. “He said he was never invited,” he muttered distantly.

“Your father was never very interested in working with them either. He’d probably have stepped down years ago. But he had to, to protect you. As long as he was on their side, they let you stay. If it were up to Laura, you’d have been driven out when you came of age.”

“He said… my dad said the last time I talked to him… that he’s not running for sheriff again next year.”

Derek nodded. “I know. He and I talked about it. It’s a good decision.”

Stiles looked down at his hands, weaving his fingers nervously around Derek’s. “Why doesn’t she want Omegas?”

“Because she needs absolute control to maintain her power. It’s precarious even on a good day and she can only keep it through brutality. The influence of Omegas change the power dynamics and structures. Lots of studies show that Betas behave differently when there’s tiers in pack hierarchy. Betas might challenge what they’re told, but Omegas question what they’re told. The things that she does… there’s no way you would stand by and let any of it happen.”

“So, she hooks up with Banshees instead?”

He threw Stiles a quelling glance but didn’t argue.

“Her latest campaign has been playing matchmaker. Marry her pack into mine. Since her ideas almost always involve bloodshed, I think it came from someone else in her trusted circle. I’ve had some ideas on who. But now she fairly regularly tries to send her Emissaries as bait, set up coincidental meet-cutes, trying to get me to bite.”

“Um, gross.”

Derek nodded. “That’s a word for it. It fucked me up a lot, for a long time. Made it hard to imagine being intimate or trusting someone again. And little did she know she would have had you right under her nose the whole time.” He gave a kiss to the back of Stiles’ hand. 

Stiles smiled in response, his cheeks feeling a little warm. He tamped down his reaction. “I don’t know, I think I’d make a pretty sexy double agent.”

“You would. C’mere.”

Stiles slid willingly into his lap, curling around him, as if he had any hope of protecting Derek from the world. Derek buried his face against Stiles’ neck and let himself be held.

“Thank you for telling me all that,” Stiles murmured after the silence had stretched out comfortably, because it felt like the right thing to say. He felt Derek give a small nod. “Let’s go to bed, big guy.”

**

Stiles knew he needed to tell him.

He’d known for a long time, he just hadn’t been ready to acknowledge it out loud. He’d wanted to play it cool, be happy with how things were, like Derek, without trying to change them or define them. No agenda, just enjoyment.

But it was always there. It was in the way Derek subtly cocked his head when Stiles entered a room, like all his senses had focused on him, and he was worth devoting attention to. It was in the way Derek opened his arms and let Stiles come into them, but never physically pulled him or forced him to move against his will. It was how he always took Stiles seriously, even when Stiles knew he was probably being irrational, and never embarrassed or shamed him when he was wrong about something. It was how they could debate things for days and never actually argue.

It was when Stiles confronted him about being too chill, too permissive, too easy going, how he let Stiles do whatever Stiles wanted, how he so rarely complained about anything. People were supposed to complain about shit. Normal people got annoyed with each other. Derek had let him rant, let him work himself up and list all Derek’s faults, until Derek had finally burst out laughing, derailing Stiles completely, reminded Stiles that he was the one in charge, and kissed him until he’d just about melted.

It was how he liked Stiles sitting behind him. Not just the part about trusting him enough to exist in his blind spot, but how they both could see the same things from the same vantage point but experience them differently with their unique perspectives. Stiles had never realized what a subtle display of power that had been, when in client meetings, Derek would often put Stiles’ chair against the wall behind him in a conference room, long before they’d started hooking up. Stiles had the werewolf equivalent of the head-of-the-table seat all along.

It was how the flowers in the office had gotten more lavish, and how smaller bouquets had started being delivered at his apartment when Derek had to travel for business. How when after Derek was unexpectedly called away for some kind of pack emergency out of state, he’d gone to see Stiles straight from the airport before going home.

It was one morning when Stiles borrowed one of Derek’s fancy woven silk ties for the first time, and instead of giving him shit, Derek came over and tied it for him, kissed his forehead, and never said a word about it – but Stiles had definitely caught him staring a few times that day.

It was especially how Derek valued their time together. They didn’t get too many nights together, since Derek was always so busy, but Stiles knew he had quietly rescheduled and rearranged a lot of obligations to make time for him. Derek wasn’t much for presents or big extravagant gestures, and he never expected it from Stiles, but it felt like Derek always treated the time they could share together like it was a gift by itself.

It was so many tiny moments. They’d made a thousand love stories that were each so small that even Stiles would missed if he’d blinked, all piling on top of each other until his heart was full of them.

He knew he was in love. He knew it probably went without saying, but he still had to find a way to tell him.


	10. Chapter 10

Stiles was glowing. He kept glancing at Scott in the elevator beside him, his eyes bright and his hands twitchy. He tapped Scott’s leg with the back of his hand reflexively, getting his attention.

Scott looked at his excitement and smiled back in return. “You’re such a nerd,” he said affectionately.

“I’m just glad you came,” Stiles said for the hundredth time, and stuffed his hands into his hoodie to keep them from doing weird things. “This is my seventh, so it’s about time.”

The doors slid open to the sixth floor. Scott glanced at him, his smile turning a bit nervous.

“You’ll love it,” Stiles reassured him. “Someone is supposed to bring a homemade maple ice cream cake. And there’s this one lady who makes her own cider – I don’t know if she’ll be here, but ohmigawd, so good.”

Scott stalled out in the hallway as the elevator doors slid closed behind him. Stiles remembered doing the exact same thing. “Your loser friend Isaac is probably here,” he said with an easy grin. “That moocher always shows up for free food.” 

“Fuck you, Stiles,” a voice said from the suddenly open door. “Like that’s not what you’re doing.”

Stiles put on a dramatic face. “I am offended! I am here only for the sake of healthy pack dynamics!”

Derek had come up behind Isaac, slipping a hand over his shoulder. “It’s nice to see you, Scott. Come on in.”

Stiles beamed at Scott, who did look pretty okay with things. As the evening wore on, he even kept being okay with things. Scott had almost died at how amazing the pulled pork with apples and butternut squash was that they had for dinner, Stiles crowed that he’d been right about the ice cream cake, and everyone was genuinely interested and kind towards the new Beta.

Almost immediately after everything was cleaned up, and people were socializing happily while beginning to make vague motions of leaving, the door opened. Everyone appeared to have been caught off-guard, and Derek jumped to his feet. All of the eyes in the room looked up to see a raven-haired woman in a plain black shift dress with a denim jacket and tall black boots saunter in. Something instinctively seemed to drive people back away from her, while Derek moved forward.

“Julia,” he said.

“Alpha Hale,” she purred, smiling as she approached him, her gait swaying and coy. “I hope I’m not intruding.”

“Is there something that we can assist you with?”

Julia stopped just inches from him. She was tall, up to his chin. She reached out and casually brushed a stray hair from his shirt. Derek stepped back from her touch. “Yes, actually. Your sister needs you home, right away.”

Derek only had a moment to jump back as Julia reached into her jacket pocket and pulled something out with lightning speed, her hand shooting up above her head. He fell into a crouch, eyes flashing bright red.

The mountain ash settled in a perfectly lined circle around her feet. Hurriedly, she pulled a small pouch out from her back pocket and dropped it on the ground, the contents spilling, looking like tiny, misshapen dice or teeth too square and small to be human.

The circle was broken almost as quickly as it had been formed. One of the human companions had stepped forward and delivered a sharp, downward strike with their elbow to the back of her head. The druid tumbled forward, crashing inelegantly and face-first into her own pile of ash, smearing it across the floor.

Everything was still for a moment with a collective intake of breath, until it was broken by a strong, authoritative voice. Stiles watched as a huge man, easily a foot taller than him, with fantastically broad shoulders and dark hair - clearly the Alpha - started issuing orders with a swift, calm efficiency. One Beta called the police, another fetched zip ties from a nearby closet, another gathered up the children to move them to another apartment.

Stiles lingered uncertainly. A nearby Beta approached him and grabbed his arm gently. “Are you okay? You look pale.”

The Beta had an open, friendly face with heavy brows and dark features. Stiles couldn’t quite place what ethnicity he was but found himself intrigued and immediately wanted to know more about him. Sometimes, you could instantly tell when you liked people. This guy seemed like he was one of the good ones. “Yeah, I’m fine, thanks. What’s happening?”

“I thought you would know?” he inquired, hand still on Stiles’ arm.

“Nah. Seems pretty weird though. Hey, man, I’m Stiles. Are you new here too?”

The Beta turned and looked at him with steady brown eyes. “Huh?”

“I’ve only been coming a few weeks. But I have no idea who that lady was, or what she was doing with the Alpha. I mean, I can probably find out…” He lowered his voice. “Did you catch the Alpha’s name yet?”

“Derek,” he said, slowly and deliberately, as if the name meant something. “Derek Hale.”

The room had grown quiet around them. Stiles had been so intent on the Beta who was still gripping his arm, tighter now, that he hadn’t been paying attention until he looked up and saw people staring at him. Ah, shit, how rude was he being?

The Alpha was staring directly at him, his face dark with a scowl. Shit, yeah, probably super rude. Because of course a man that ridiculously gorgeous would be scowling at someone like him. Fuck his whole life.

His companion grasped his face and turned it back to meet his eyes. They flashed bright gold for a brief, searching second. “Stiles? Man, you’re scaring me, c’mon.”

Stiles shook him off gently. He hated the feeling of being out of the loop, but he was pretty much done with this whole soap opera. He hoped he didn’t have to wait around for the cops or anything, because he was about ready to bounce. “Sorry?” was all he could say. Yeah, he’d had enough socialization for one night. Thank God he lived alone so he could just escape all… whatever this was.

“Who has my phone?” the Alpha barked from nearby.

**

The world wasn’t done with him. The whole situation turned to chaos, and the cops did come, and they wanted to talk to Stiles at length. He was probably the most useless witness ever – he had no idea who the woman who confronted the Alpha was, who the Alpha was who had been the confrontee, or why any of this was happening, _yes he knew what date it was!_, but they wanted about a dozen statements anyways. Sign here, sign there, read this to make sure it’s accurate.

No, he’d never met the Alpha before. No, he’d never met that Beta before. Or that Beta, or that Beta…. He was new here, for the hundredth time. He didn’t know _anyone_.

There was a lot of noise and motion in the background, but Stiles wasn’t left alone for one moment.

The Alpha was never far from him, even when giving his own statements. Though he couldn’t prove it, Stiles felt like he was listening in, like Stiles was the only thing worth paying attention to and everything else was just a distraction. In any other situation, Stiles imagined, he might have made something of that. In this case, it made him feel too much like they were playing into the stereotypical squicky damsel-Omega-Alpha-knight dynamics that grossed him out, just without any backstory.

The crowd cleared quickly and the whole thing was over within the hour. When the police presence left, Stiles was left with the Alpha and the Beta he’d already taken a liking to, Scott McCall.

Scott and Stiles were sitting on the couch as Derek Hale approached. “Scott, I’m sorry to ask you to leave, but I’m going to have to take Stiles upstairs. One of my emissaries needs to speak with him.”

Stiles knew that the identities of most emissaries were meant to be kept secret, and Scott stood, but continued to linger uncertainly. “Maybe I should wait?”

Derek put his hand on Scott’s shoulder and stepped close. “I know I haven’t earned your trust, but you can believe me when I say that Stiles is my top priority.”

Scott nodded, and gripped Derek’s shoulder in return. “Just bring him back.”

Their hug seemed impulsive, desperate.

The young Beta walked out without a second glance, and Stiles was alone with probably the most attractive man he’d ever been in the same room with – seriously what the hell was with those shoulders that were obviously carved by the great Italian masters in marble – who’d said that he was his top priority. But he had no idea why. 

“What the hell is going on?” he demanded, jumping to his feet. “What the hell are you talking about, taking care of me? Who are you that you think you get to do that?”

He looked like he tried to laugh, but his eyes were too sad to make it convincing. He rubbed his face and sighed heavily, hesitating for a moment before finally taking a breath and stepping closer. “I’m your Alpha, Stiles.”

Stiles only stared somberly back at him. It sounded like those words were important, but it didn’t really connect with anything in his head. He crossed his arms with a sharp jerking motion.

“Whatever Julia did, it erased some of your memory, but I know someone who will be able to help you. Is it all right if I introduce you to them?”

Stiles crossed his arms and stepped back to give himself enough room to drag his eyes up and down Derek’s full length. “So, when you say that you’re _my_ Alpha…”

“I’m being literal. You’re my Omega.”

He laughed, partially out of shock, but mostly out of disbelief. “You’re full of shit! Me? And you? Like, you? With the arms and the shoulders and… _me_?”

Somehow, Derek’s smile was a little more genuine. “_You_, Stiles. Definitely you.”

“Yeah, no. See, look at you. People don’t just _look_ like you, okay? You’re not even on the same hotness scale as I am, so in no universe does this go together with this!”

“I think you learned to see past my appearance somehow.”

“This is not a joke, first of all. And second, I’m not even that kind of Omega.”

“I know. I’m not that kind of Alpha. This wouldn’t work, otherwise.”

He took his phone out of his back pocket and tapped something into it before extending it to him. Stiles was suddenly looking at a picture of them together. Derek was beaming with a smile like sunshine, Stiles tucked tenderly against his neck, his scarf covering part of his face, and slightly blurred like he was in motion or talking up at Derek, unaware of the camera. There was a black car behind them, and it looked like they were leaning on it.

Derek scrolled through more photos. All the rest were obviously taken by Stiles. In one, he was sitting in Derek’s lap, both their hair wet, Derek looking at Stiles’ freckles, oblivious that Stiles was taking a photo of him. In another, Stiles was crouching behind Derek as he worked at a kitchen counter, pretending to bite Derek’s butt. Another, they were kissing, Derek with his eyes closed, Stiles with a dumb smile and his eyes open, looking directly at the camera.

“We look so happy.” He took the phone from him and kept scrolling through. He lingered on a photo of Stiles pulling a face in the foreground while Derek made a bed behind him, wearing nothing but black underwear. He was almost ashamed to look, and it made him feel a little sheepish how much he wanted to keep looking. He kept swiping.

There was someone’s whole life in the pictures, and he recognized himself and his face, but he felt completely disconnected from them. It was eerie and uncomfortable, and he wanted to stop, but couldn’t, because he wanted all of it. He wanted to see what they were together.

That really was them, together. But, not. Not at all. It was two strangers. Stiles wondered if he should have been creeped out, but the idea that this was all some sort of elaborate predatory set-up was too far-fetched to take hold seriously in his list of potential explanations.

He handed the phone back. It was left open to a picture of Derek in a cluttered looking room with an unmade double size bed, stuffed into one of Stiles’ tee shirts, stretching the poor thing at the seams and looking furious. 

“I’ll go with you. But I’m not that kind of Omega. I don’t _have_ an Alpha.” His protest sounded weak in his own ears. But he still felt like he had to say it.

Derek didn’t touch him at all as he silently walked him out of the space and to the elevator, but Stiles could tell that he wanted to as they ascended to the eighth floor.

He followed along to the door at the end of the hall, but he felt like he would have already known the way without a guide. This felt like going home. His body knew comfort awaited him. Were they going to where Stiles lived, or did he live somewhere else? Okay, not that he didn’t buy the Massive Mysterious Memory Loss story but knowing where he lived should have been as basic as remembering his name or what he’d had for dinner a few hours ago, which he definitely did remember. But seriously, where had he been when he was eating it…?

A bald man in teal scrubs and a beige chunky knit cardigan was waiting for them inside. “Thanks for coming up, Alan,” Derek said as he shut the door behind them.

“I’ve spoken with a few people on the phone. They’ve assigned us a police liaison, so I’ve gotten the full briefing from her as well.” The man looked at Stiles, his penetrating gaze at odds with his otherwise kindly and serene demeanor. “Do you remember me, Stiles?”

He seemed vaguely familiar in a way he couldn’t place. He sat on the couch Derek had led him to, although Derek remained standing, hovering nearby. “I feel like we’ve met before,” Stiles said. “But I’m not sure where. Sorry.”

He smiled, sitting down on the opposite end of the couch, and Stiles felt a little more at ease. “That’s just fine. You would have known me as Dr. Deaton. I’m actually quite flattered. If I’m correct, I believe that the memories connected to people you care about are what seem to be missing. Unfortunately for this situation, Stiles, you’ve always had the tendency to care deeply about the majority of people you encounter.”

“Do you know me?”

“Very well. I’ve known you almost your whole life. Trust me when I say that you would have been surprised to see me here.” Dr. Deaton exchanged a look with Derek, who offered Deaton a wane smile in acknowledgement, but really it just made him look even sadder. 

“You got the pictures?”

“Yes, from the police as well.”

“It was all very Julia’s style. If Julia does something without a dozen witnesses, did it ever really happen?”

“I’m confident that the spell was meant for you, Derek, but, thanks to some protections you have in place-” Deaton motioned to Derek’s arm “-any actual damage to your memory would have been either temporary or minimal, if there’s been any at all.”

He must have noticed Stiles’ curious look, even though he was trying to keep his face purposefully blank. Derek rolled up the sleeve of his rust-colored knit sweater a few inches. He had what looked like complex markings and bands of ancient text branded over his forearm. They were remarkably beautiful. “You picked out this sweater for me. I would have just worn a tee shirt otherwise,” Derek said to Stiles before turning back to Dr. Deaton. “I doubt she knows I have them, but who knows how that would have changed things. What was she trying to do?”

“I still have to confirm this, but I strongly believe based on the photos I saw that you would have been in a mental and emotional state that you were in your early teens. Most likely wiping your memory of the fire entirely, and everything after that along with it.”

He sighed. “So I’d think my home was still there and want to go back.”

“Undoubtedly. What I think actually happened is that the hair she took from your shirt was actually Mr. Stilinski’s here, and the spell’s intent was misplaced, and it misfired. It was never meant to be an attack on Stiles at all.”

“What can you do?”

“Right now? Nothing.”

A dangerous rumble came from Derek’s chest, setting Stiles on edge. He shifted uncomfortably.

The druid didn’t seem perturbed by the sound. “But with some time to research, someone will undoubtedly know something.”

“How much time?” Derek’s tone was dark, but Deaton just shrugged.

“No way to know. Could be days, could be months.”

“I need to call the Sheriff,” Derek sighed. “Before he finds out another way.”

It was swiftly becoming overwhelming. He could already hear his heartbeat in his ears, and it had only been growing louder while the two men talked. The idea of another stranger was just too much.

“Ugh! No!” Stiles groaned. “How many more cops do I have to talk to?”

Deaton turned fully to him with gentle concern in his eyes, while Derek turned and stalked towards the opposite wall, just outside of Stiles’ peripheral vision, his hands digging into the muscles of his neck as he walked away.

“Stiles, Sheriff Stilinksi is your father. Do you have any memories of your father?”

His father was in law enforcement? That didn’t sound right. Or maybe it did. Was that way he had considered that internship at Quantico? He had some nebulous memory of intense indecision and gut-wrenchingly long nights of trying to figure out the rest of his life.

His breath was becoming labored. “I… um… I need a minute.” Stiles quickly stood up and went to the closed bedroom door, not bothering to turn the overhead light on upon his entry. He crashed into the side of the bed furthest from the door, which seemed the most intuitive thing, and turned the bedside reading lamp on instead, filling the room with a soft warm light. He scuffled around to plug his phone into his charger and then flopped despondently onto his side.

He really did need a minute. Maybe a hundred. And he needed to spend them curled in the fetal position.

He definitely had parents; he knew that much. Everybody had parents, and even if he was an orphan and they were killed by a rogue terrorist group moments after his birth, he’d still have a heart-rending origin story to remember. But instead, there was just nothing. His memories jumped loosely from school, to lacrosse, to a teenage bedroom, to college dorms that all smelled the same even when they were in different buildings. He remembered a few truly awful roommates, but never any housemates after graduation. Had he been living alone? Did he work? If he didn’t, what did he do all day? How did he afford not to work?

This line of thought was making him panicky. 

In a desperate bid for distraction, his eyes landed on a stack of books on his nightstand, each of them looking well-loved, except for the one on the top of the pile. It was new, the binding matte black and unbroken. He didn’t remember buying it – but he didn’t remember buying any of the other ones either. They looked like a stranger’s books, even though he knew they were his.

He uncurled just enough to snatch it, his curiosity overriding his nausea. It was a collection of poems, one of them marked with a fresh yellow leaf that had just started to turn but hadn’t made the commitment yet. It had been placed there recently, probably within the day. Stiles opened to the poem marked.

_he looks at me with_

_these stars in his eyes_

_like I was the one _

_who hung them there_

There was a doodle done with a ballpoint pen of a full moon with twinkles around it, with a line of little pine tree silhouettes at the bottom of the page. The letter “D” was written by the page number.

The roar that came from the next room shook the walls with its primal ferocity. It felt like his bones vibrated inside his body, and the wolf inside him whined and strained to respond to it. _Help him,_ it whined. _Go to him. Comfort him_.

But Stiles didn’t know him. 

“I need him back!” The voice was something beyond human and it pierced his heart with its unrestrained, desperate grief. Stiles knew that even people floors below would have heard him, maybe even beyond the building.

Tears began to well up in his eyes that he couldn’t keep at bay any longer.


	11. Chapter 11

Scott was around. _All. The Time_. The owner of the vet clinic he worked at needed to take a leave of absence for a family emergency or something and had closed the clinic down temporarily. Scott had been offered a per diem position at a nearby animal urgent care center - the same one all his animal patients had been referred to - but he politely declined and said he wanted to spend time with his little bro.

Which was him, Stiles reminded himself. But being a little bro felt like being a little smothered. And worse, it felt like he was being denied something, but he had no idea what. Scott had to bring him down to the police station twice to talk to four separate people – each time – in four separate departments, asking similar questions that he had similar non-answers to. One time they even hooked him up to a machine with weird little octopus suction cups that went on his head and chest while they asked him questions, so that was a pretty unique experience.

He'd also had a lawyer with him the entire time, taking notes on everything. She’d been vague about her role there but hadn’t interfered.

He’d began acting out. It had started with small arguments, petty nitpickings that had surprised Scott. “You’ve never had a problem with it,” was playing on repeat.

They swiftly became nearly violent outbursts.

“I know you’re frustrated, but,” became the chorus.

They were left alone together for days, both of them feeling like they were on house arrest for different reasons, until a third party finally stepped in. Stiles had been sulking and playing a video game with headphones on but dropped them around his neck when he heard a knock.

Scott had answered the door. “Alpha. Thank goodness.”

“I apologize for the delay, Mr. McCall. I came as fast as I was able.”

Stiles knew it wasn’t any Alpha of his. Not that he had an Alpha. _He wasn’t that kind of Omega_.

An older woman came in and appraised Stiles sitting on the couch. Her strength seemed to fill more space than she did; she was powerful far beyond her physical ability. It was almost breathtaking. She moved carefully, with consideration, always aware of the space her body was occupying. Her dark eyes raked him harshly, missing nothing. “Mr. Stilinksi,” she said with a cool nod. “I’m very pleased to meet you. I am Alpha Ito.”

Stiles suddenly felt like the jerk he’d been acting like. He pulled the headphones from his neck and scrambled up and over, extending his hand. “Nice to meet you, Alpha.”

She shook it and held it for a long moment. She closed her other hand over his briefly. “I wish I could be meeting you under better circumstances. Alpha Hale is a very close friend of mine.”

He gently took his hand back. “I’m not sure I can say the same,” he said, with what he hoped was equal coolness.

Alpha Ito looked less than impressed. “Did you say you were going to do the shopping, Mr. McCall?”

Scott scrambled away with a rushed confirmation, carrying his shoes out the door with him instead of putting them on inside the apartment. 

“Mr. Stilinksi. I’m currently assisting Alpha Hale and his Emissaries in determining what can be done about your current condition. Many packs have offered all the assistance they are able. Alpha Hale has suffered enough loss. Why don’t you tell me how you’ve been doing these past few days?”

Stiles, never one to pass up free therapy, went ahead and whipped open his emotional suitcase and began unpacking it all over that poor, unsuspecting Alpha. She never stood a chance.

** 

Stiles only meant to check his phone just to see what time it was, but somehow, he had unlocked it and dialed a number before he could stop himself.

He had woken up alternating with chills and waves of heat, his cock impossibly hard and aching to the point of pain. He’d been grinding himself into the mattress when he awoke.

“I need you, Daddy,” he was saying. Although there hadn’t had any time for it to even ring, he knew the line was connected. He simultaneously had no idea who he’d called, but somehow knew who it would be who was answering him.

“I was just dreaming about you,” came the gravelly reply. “Did your heat wake you up?”

“What are you wearing?”

“Gray boxer briefs and a smile. Are you in your blue flannel pants?”

He gripped his cock at the base, trying to quell the urge to grind into the bed. “I think I’ve soaked them. I need your knot so bad.”

“I’m sure you do. Do you remember what my knot feels like?”

God, he did. Wait, how did he? Was he still dreaming? Who was he talking to? He knew, though. _His Alpha_. Derek. He knew what Derek’s knot felt like, thick and swelling inside him, pulsing with Derek’s cum pumping inside of him, fingers digging into his hips as he ground back against him like he couldn’t get enough even when he already had all of it.

He didn’t realize he’d been rambling out loud until Derek gave a very approving groan. “I’ve missed that filthy mouth of yours.”

“I miss you filling my filthy mouth. Fuck. I want to be on my hands and knees in front of you right now, with you holding my hair and fucking my face. Get you thick and hard so you can fuck me and knot my ass. Can I jerk off while I do that, Daddy?”

“You can, you deserve it, baby. You should cum for me now.”

“What about you?”

“You first, sweetheart. Cum for me. Let Daddy hear how much you need it.”

Stiles turned away from the phone to bury is face into the pillow, his hips stuttering into the death-grip of his hand while the head of his cock ground against the soft give of the mattress. He panted his Daddy’s name over and over, the tension of his heat abating slightly with every pulse of his orgasm.

“Fuck. I’ve been taking my suppressants,” he grumbled unhappily a moment later, his wits still not about him. That hadn’t been the release he’d hoped it would be. More like a quarter of what he needed.

Derek gave a sympathetic noise. “I know. You already made an appointment with the doctor to get the dosage adjusted, but it’s not for a few more weeks. Your body chemistry is changing since you’re spending so much time with an Alpha….” He hesitated, as if considering his next words carefully, but then forged ahead fearlessly. “Do you remember when we researched it online together during your last heat? You were so exhausted from it. We were sitting on my couch while the bedroom aired out, and I’d wrapped you up in a blanket, and you snapped at me for reading over your shoulder and told me to get my own phone.”

Stiles smiled. That sounded like something he’d have done. “Why didn’t you?”

“Well, for starters, you were using my phone. But I reminded you that you were on my lap and I’d have to move you to get yours.”

“I’m glad you’re not that much of a monster.”

“I’m still a monster, just a different kind. Afterwards I forced you to shower while I made some pizza dough. When you were clean, you stole my clothes and helped me finish it and then we did laundry while it baked.”

Stiles perked up. “Wait, you can make pizza dough? Like, from scratch? Who even does that?”

“Lots of people. It takes less than an hour, you just hold the world record for longest showers ever. Sometimes I go in and check on you to make sure you haven’t died in there.”

He laughed despite himself. “Is that the only reason?”

“It’s a convenient excuse. But you should take one right now. I can smell you through the phone.”

“I wanna see you tomorrow.”

Derek hesitated. “If you’re still having heat symptoms, I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

Stiles shuffled to his back, the best he could with one hand still down the front of his pants. It would have been too much of a mess to take it out. “I think it’s the best idea.”

“Stiles. Don’t put me in the position where I’d be taking advantage of your biological urges without your emotional investment. Go take a shower and try to get back to sleep.”

“Can I call again if I need to?”

“Yes. Absolutely. Good night, sweetheart.”

“G’night.”

Derek paused, like a small, quiet question mark hanging between them. Like something uncertain and wistful.

“Good night, Daddy,” Stiles corrected himself in a whisper, a stupid grin spreading over his face.

“Good boy.”

**

While most of the time for the last few weeks, it felt like being dropped into the middle of a stranger’s life, sometimes he caught glimpses of his memories in shadows or in half-waking moments, and he knew they were his. But the idea of having any involvement at all with an Alpha still seemed too foreign to him. Something he fantasized about but never actually happened. Not to him. He just wasn’t the type of guy to attract the attention of a guy like Derek Hale. He was nothing but sarcasm and freckles and a caffeine addiction, and Derek was emotional maturity and hard muscles and probably an actual skincare routine. Those things didn’t go together. Those things didn’t make a love story.

But, here he was, walking down a hall so familiar that he knew where the other doors went to, knew that the code was the same for each of them, and knew that his code was the master key to everything with a keypad lock in the whole building.

It had taken a half hour to get an Uber once he’d finally decided on his plan after a lot of obsessive over-thinking, second guessing, doubling back, making up his mind, unmaking it, double-over-thinking, and then triple guessing his over-thinking, but finally he’d been retrieved by a kind older gentleman in a handsome blue turban, who worked late afternoons as a DevOps engineer, but had been lonely after his wife passed away, so started driving strangers around as a side hobby in the small hours of the morning.

It was barely five, but he was somehow sure that Derek would already be up. He closed the door behind him and entered the cool stillness of the loft that still felt like home. The sound of running water was loud in the silence. The house was significantly messier than the last time he’d been there, and had the eerie, unplaceable feeling that multiple people had been there. Almost like after everyone left after a party.

He navigated in the darkness to the couch and dropped his things as he went. He left a trail of clothes on his way to the shower, not really concerned about anything else other than finding the one person who would satisfy the deep, consuming, unrelenting ache in his stomach that he hadn’t been able to shake all night.

“I’m not going to make you a pizza for breakfast, Stiles,” Derek warned sternly as he entered.

He laughed incredulously. “Goddamn it, how did you know?”

“Because I know _you_, you brat.”

Stiles slipped behind the frosted glass door into the stinging warmth of the standing shower with two showerheads. He slid easily into Derek’s arms, which hesitated only a fraction of a moment before his hands closed around Stiles’ shoulders. “Fine. Listen, don’t start, okay? You’re not taking advantage of me,” Stiles said quietly into his chest. “I don’t remember why I fell in love with you, but I know I did. It’s like… it’s like there’s no way I can’t love you. Even when I feel like I don’t know you. But I remember what it felt like. I miss you.”

Derek had curled his hands around Stiles’ shoulders, but his grip was only slightly too tight to be comforting, his fingers digging into his skin deeper than they should have for such a gentle action. Derek leaned down and pressed his forehead against his, an agonized sigh slipping quietly out.

“I’m sorry,” Stiles said, but wasn’t sure what he was apologizing for.

“It’s okay,” Derek said softly. He shook his head softly, and Stiles felt that his brow was wrinkled in some sort of consternation. “You’re in heat; it’s okay.”

“It’s… it’s not just that,” he insisted weakly. “It’s that too, but… not just that.”

Stiles saw his ribs move, rather than heard, as Derek took a deep breath, and he suddenly wasn’t sure if Derek was holding him away from himself or closer. “You’re getting your memories back soon,” Derek insisted. It felt like there was such a sadness behind his words, and Stiles desperately wanted to help.

He let his forehead slide from against Derek’s, to press it into his collarbone. He heard the sound of his teeth shifting in his mouth, as if Derek couldn’t hold his fangs at bay as he pushed hard against the full length of Derek’s body, pressing his mouth against the thick slabs of muscle that made up his chest. A sound of appreciation slipped out on Derek’s exhale as Stiles let his hands roam, feeling his way along the curves of his body.

“What do you want, sweetheart?”

His cock was hard against Stiles’ stomach, and he arched against it, his confidence exploding exponentially as he felt how affected Derek was by him. Stiles’ heartbeat was like a hammer, sending out a Morse code of anticipation through his bones. Heat swirled in the pit of his stomach and made his skin feel overly sensitive to every point of contact he had with the Alpha. 

“You have to say it, Stiles. I have to hear it. You have to tell me what you want.”

“I don’t know! I want everything! I want everything I used to have.”

Derek pulled back slightly and held his face in one hand, turning it up to meet his eyes. They were dark in the meager light as they searched his own. The pads of his fingers indented Stiles’ cheek to press against the bone. “You have all of me, Stiles. That could never change.”

He bet past-Stiles had all the right words, knew all Derek’s buttons to press to get what he wanted, all the cheat codes to make it easy. He easily returned his Alpha’s gaze, hands moving up to stroke the strong column of his neck, moving through the beaded water. He didn’t know what he wanted, but he desperately _wanted. _“Please take care of me, Daddy.”

It was like Stiles could see the inner conflict happening in Derek’s head, but he was willing to beg.

Stiles tilted his head up, rocking onto his toes to set his mouth against Derek’s. He had a brief moment of terror, where he thought Derek wasn’t going to kiss him back, and he nudged more insistently. “Please,” he whispered against his mouth.

Stiles barely had time to take a breath before he was pushed flat against the warm tiles of the shower, Derek’s mouth opening over his. One strong hand cupped the back of his head and held him firmly, his tongue slipping inside his mouth deftly like he’d practiced it a million times. 

Before Stiles could get his wits about him and attempt to kiss him back with some measure of skill or coherency, Derek was already moving, hands dragging down his body, teeth and stubble and lips on his neck, ghosting over his nipples, mouthing his sternum which _holy shit how was that a thing that felt so good_ and then down immediately to his aching cock.

Stiles let out a sob, the grip of his hands curled around Derek’s shoulders probably painful. Derek didn’t waste any time with preamble, but Stiles didn’t need any. He felt like he’d been hard and aching for hours and Derek’s mouth taking him all the way to the base was his first taste of relief.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum,” he warned, trying feebly to pull him off, but Derek refused to break rhythm and he was totally lost. He’d barely lasted thirty seconds. Derek held him steady as his knees went to jelly and his spine became a useless piece of string that couldn’t support him if it tried. The relief was barely enough; it was only one of those frustrating heat orgasms that only felt like half-strength, enough to just barely satiate but not enough to feel like he was finished.

“Let’s get you to the bedroom, sweetheart.” Derek stood and turned away to turn the water off on the other side of the standing shower. He retrieved a fluffy towel from the hook just outside and returned, wrapping him up gently and shepherding Stiles out before grabbing a towel of his own from a nearby folded stack. Stiles went quietly and willingly.

He knelt in front of the bed and watched Derek quickly dry himself, muscles working as he moved, his tattoos a natural, organic part of him. Stiles’ mouth watered at the sight and he wiggled impatiently. Derek had carried in a stack of wash clothes that he tossed onto the unmade bed but didn’t offer any explanation or attempt to draw attention to them, so Stiles didn’t let it distract him from the gorgeous sight he was looking up at. 

He must’ve been Gandhi in a past life to have deserved something like this. 

Derek smiled down at him and carded his hands through Stiles’ wet hair. “My perfect boy,” he purred, and Stiles felt like he was glowing inside. “I’ve missed you so much. You’re so beautiful on your knees for me.”

Stiles ran his hands up Derek’s thighs, marveling that something so divine could ever possibly be his. He didn’t have past-Stiles’ words, but he still had past-Stiles’ mouth, and based on Derek’s size, he hoped he had already overcome any gag reflex.

“Gonna get me ready so I can fuck you, pup?”

“Yes, please, Daddy.”

“Fuck yourself on your fingers then,” he growled.

Stiles ran his tongue up the length, one hand sliding around to squeeze Derek’s ass while his other pushed two fingers inside himself. Derek gripped his shoulder firmly. At first, Stiles had thought it was for balance, until he saw black veins on Derek’s forearm rise as he took the discomfort of him so roughly stretching himself open, until it was only the faintest idea of a distant mild twinge. He pushed in a third finger and it was nothing but bliss. He was probably dripping all the way onto the floor, but he could blame his heat for that. Derek knew what he signed up for.

Stiles reached up and groped for Derek’s other hand, the one that had been carding restlessly through his hair, directing it to the back of his head. Derek made an approving noise above him, his hand tightening on the back of his head with a gentle but firm pressure.

“Such a good boy,” Derek praised. Stiles moaned quietly in response. 

He took long breaths in through his nose and kept breathing as he swallowed, letting his mouth feel stretched and full, taking Derek down as far as he could. He tucked the thumb on his free hand into his fist and squeezed. Stiles was surprised when his nose hit a trimmed thatch of hair, that he’d done it. His eyes were watering, and he had to keep concentrating on his breathing, but he’d fucking done it. Derek hissed, his grip tightening, and Stiles felt a thrill shoot through him at the sound. He wanted to keep hearing more of that, hear Derek get loud and lose control, because of _him_. That primal wolf that usually just made disgruntled clattering noises inside his heart was fucking _losing its mind_.

And he’d been missing this for two weeks? Two weeks of not being on his knees? Two weeks without having his mouth filled down the back of this throat by an Alpha? He had more to make up for than he thought. He began moving in earnest, while Derek’s hand set the pace.

Stiles’ movement was becoming slowly restricted by the hand that was now trying to keep his head still, but he continued trying to set a quick rhythm that would get Derek making noise again. He rocked on his fingers with the motion, trying to get leverage.

“If you keep this up, I’m never going to last long enough to give you my knot.” 

Stiles made some garbled confirmation but refused to stop. It was only a few seconds before Derek roughly pulled him off, pushing him back against the side of the bed and leaning down to hook his arms under Stiles’ legs with inhuman speed. Stiles bounced on the mattress before he’d realized what happened and didn’t even have time to wipe the drool from his chin before Derek was crashing down over him.

“You’re gonna be so full of my cum you’ll taste it,” he promised, already sinking into his ready hole. 

Stiles was folded in half, knees towards his shoulders, incapable of doing anything except making ugly barking noises with each hammering thrust that was shoving his shoulders deeper and deeper into the bed. His hands scrambled for purchase but couldn’t find any, until he just had to give up and let himself be handled.

The overwhelming tidal wave of his heat came down on him hard, blinding him to everything around him. His voice rose in pitch, became a pained noise of desperation. He could barely breath.

Derek’s hand, where it had been holding his thigh, slipped down and gripped his cock, his grip sure and firm. He didn’t have to pump at all, the gentle squeezing was enough to push him over that edge.

The noises he was making were beyond his control. He was barely able to think straight, let alone stop making weird little gasping squeak-grunts. Everything was still a thousand miles away.

His thighs were shaking as Derek pulled out and laid him flat on his back, letting him unfold.

He didn’t have enough cum left to make much of a mess, but Derek was reaching for a washcloth. Stiles belated realized what they were there for as Derek gave his stomach a hasty cleaning and tossed it aside.

“How you doing, little prince?” Derek asked above him. He stroked wide hands over Stiles’ sides and chest, the feeling of his skin sliding over his pure bliss. 

He nodded, happily floaty and disconnected. It was the best he felt in hours, but something was still nagging at the edge of his awareness, catching his attention despite his best attempts to float away. He slowly realized he was still hard and looked down in disbelief. “You’re kidding me,” he gasped. He hadn’t realized it was only a thirty second temporary reprieve.

Derek followed his gaze and made a rumbling noise of approval. He closed his hand around Stiles’ cock and started stroking it slowly, more firmly at the base and letting his grip loosen at the top. Stiles let his head fall back and moaned in appreciation. Maybe his heat wasn’t all bad. 

Derek’s hand slid over his neck and up around his face, his fingers pressing into his mouth. Stiles’ hand crept up around Derek’s wrist, holding his arm as he slowly stroked the pad of his thumb over each individual tooth in Stiles’ mouth. He writhed between the two sources of pleasure, his legs rising of their own accord to ineffectually try to hook around Derek’s waist.

He was embarrassed at Derek’s finesse, at how he knew Stiles so well and how to drive him wild, without knowing barely anything about what Derek liked. He was obviously very well practiced and had been paying very close attention, because suddenly he had half his hand in Stiles’ mouth and Stiles almost cried because it felt too good for him to begin to deal with.

Thank goodness his lazy past-self had procrastinated on rescheduling that doctor appointment. He’d have given everything for this kind of pleasure to keep happening.

He shook his head and Derek withdrew his hand immediately. “Inside me,” he pleaded.

Derek didn’t hesitate. He slipped his arms around Stiles’ back and suddenly lifted him. Stiles’ arms flew around his shoulders and his legs circled around his waist, but Derek was strong enough to support him on his own. He stood them up together and carefully positioned Stiles to slide down his cock. He was already so wet and ready that he took it effortlessly.

Derek stayed inside him while he swung one leg up on the bed, and carefully laid himself down on his back, like Stiles didn’t weigh more than a bread loaf.

“Holy shit,” he slipped out. “That’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”

His grin showed fangs. “You always like that one.”

Stiles had been expecting to let Derek do all the work but realized that now he was the one on top and was expected to actually do something.

He was shocked and appalled that the motion didn’t come naturally to him. He rocked on his knees, but it was too shallow a movement and didn’t feel quite right. He leaned down towards Derek’s chest, but it didn’t give him a good angle and he felt precarious, and where did he put his hands? On Derek? Next to his chest? What if he hurt him? So next to his head? On either side of him? The guy’s shoulders were a quarter mile wide and half a mile away, he couldn’t lean up that far. Frustration was creeping over all his happy little feel good hormones his brain had been luxuriously taking a bath in.

He pulled both knees up and tried a few experimental bounces balanced on the pads of his feet, but felt too vulnerable and exposed, and dropped his knees immediately. Was he secretly really just a pillow princess and completely useless to everyone including himself? _What the fuck._

He stayed on his toes and tried it with his knees down but the friction wasn’t doing it enough for him. It just wasn’t _it_.

“One leg up,” Derek growled impatiently. During all his research for the perfect angle, he’d half-forgotten Derek was there at all.

Stiles mumbled an apology and bent one leg back up. Derek hugged it in his arm, supporting it and allowing him something to push against. His hands dropped down to Derek’s chest, splaying out over his ribs.

It all came back together. He heard Derek give an approving groan, but Stiles’ eyes had drifted closed and he couldn’t be bothered to open them. His body fell into the motion and he was gone.

Derek’s hips suddenly snapped up to meet his, the motion hitting against that bundle of nerves that was about to set him off. Stiles was distantly aware Derek was saying something, but he was too lost to the world to even try to care. He was too close.

His thighs started shaking from the effort, but Derek didn’t let up. He kept meeting Stiles’ thrusts with hard, fast motions, one hand holding his leg steady and the other curled around his shoulder, forcing him to pick up his pace.

Derek slammed up into him, and Stiles felt the base of Derek’s cock start to swell and thicken inside of him. He felt his ass stretching around it, keeping him right on that knife’s edge, whimpering and shaking.

Derek’s hands released him and held his hips, forcing him down, grinding hard into him. With a strangled sound, Stiles finally felt the tension burst, cumming hard from the feeling of Derek’s knot pulsing. He stayed there, as if suspended in time, as the waves of it spread through his body.

Once it was finally over, he sat hunched, panting, both hands pressed down into Derek’s sternum. “Love you,” he gasped out.

His sluggish, happy little brain took a moment to catch up to his mouth. It must have been a muscle memory. It must have been something that he just always said. He hadn’t even thought about it before it just popped out.

“Love you too,” Derek returned, sounding equally wrecked.

And thank god, otherwise he might’ve died of embarrassment. He nodded and took a minute to try and catch his breath, but his body was still thrumming.

Stiles leaned back, arching and rocking as much as the knot would allow him. It felt beyond amazing. Like, sex was good and all, but really all the buildup was for this payoff and it was totally worth the effort. He wasn’t even surprised to realize his cock was still achingly hard. Derek pulled him down and trapped it between their bodies.

“You’re still gonna need one more, baby. Let’s get you through it. What do you say to being the sexy TA to my tenured professor?”

Stiles pushed his face into Derek’s neck and cringed. “I don’t know. Are you going to punish me for grading papers incorrectly?”

Derek ran one hand gently over his hair while the other circled over his back. “Never. I would never punish you. I didn’t even notice if they were wrong. You always do everything so perfectly, you’re so smart, and so talented. It’s okay if you made a mistake…”

Strange things twisted around in Stiles’ chest. Derek really _did _know him. He obviously couldn’t remember if he’d ever mentioned it to Derek or not, but he’d done his fair share of roleplays before, and they were always huge turnoffs… Obviously why he could remember them. Punishment scenarios sometimes made it difficult for him to get out of his head. There had always been something about him that set authority figures on edge no matter how much he tried to tamp that reaction down. His experience in academia was already rife with trauma of mean-spirited professors who made it their personal life mission to make him miserable, and petty tyrant TAs who wanted to break his spirit, and he’d really barely recovered from the damage higher education had heaped upon him.

Derek was grinding up against Stiles, his knot catching the rim only just enough to remind him it was there, teasing him with the gentle pull. “I’ve watched you for a long time now. I knew you’d do so well for me. And you know why I hired you? Why I chose you out of everybody I could have chosen? Why I wanted you so badly?”

He wanted to do nothing but roll his eyes back and bask in it, but he forced himself to keep paying attention. “I’m such a hard worker?”

“Because I believe you can do anything you set your mind to. And I knew you’d set your mind to getting me alone in my office.” Derek nipped at his ear. “I’ve been waiting for this all semester.”

“Was it worth the wait, sir?”

“God, yes. You’re worth everything, Mr. Stilinski. If you only knew how many times I thought about having you like this. I’ve imagined where every freckle is on you, watched you talking with other students and wondered what your mouth feels like, watched you just holding a pen and wondered what your hands feel like. And now I have you and you have exceeded my wildest dreams.

“You are the most brilliant, beautiful, authentic, witty person I’ve ever met. I’m going to be lost without you next semester. Maybe I can pull some strings to let you to stay on another year, would you like that?”

The only response he could formulate was a nod.

“You’re always so helpful to me, so maybe I should help you now, hmm?” One of Derek’s hands slid between them to wrap around his cock, sliding his thumb into Stiles’ mouth with the other hand. Stiles latched onto it immediately. “Yeah, there we go. I love feeling you fucking my hand. Feels so good, doesn’t it, Mr. Stilinski?”

He gave a whimpering moan of affirmation. 

Derek set a quick rhythm, snapping his wrist, still pouring praise over him. Stiles felt it building from all the way in his toes. He barely had anything left in him, but it felt like his orgasm was drawn out from every inch of his body. It started slow, tingling at the back of his neck and in the soles of his feet, finally surging through him in a rush. Derek kept praising him as he rode it through, gasping desperately to try and take in air. It just kept happening.

He wasn’t sure he’d had such a long orgasm in his life. He didn’t think he was even able to do that. He collapsed onto Derek’s chest, forcing the man under him to pull his knees up and tilt his hips up to keep the knot from pulling out.

Derek was petting his hair, his voice dropped to a whisper, telling him how good he was.

The tears started falling, quickly, and he was unable to hold back the heaving sobs that followed. He realized, in the logical part of his mind that had taken a back seat, that there was no thought behind it, it was just something that his body had to get through, and Stiles was helpless to hold it back. Derek just kept holding him, petting softly, but stayed quiet while Stiles worked his way through it.

He didn’t know why he was crying, but it felt almost as much as a relief as the sex. It stopped, almost suddenly, and he was left hiccupping softly. Derek fished around and came back with a washcloth that had gotten lost under a pillow.

Stiles sat up and wiped his face off. “Sorry,” he finally said.

Derek’s hands moved gently over his thighs. “Don’t be. That must’ve felt good.”

He gave a soft laugh, embarrassed. “Thanks.” He folded the washcloth and wiped at Derek’s stomach. “I liked that a lot. Th-the, um, role play, specifically. Also the other stuff, too, but that was good.”

“I’m glad. I think it’s a good start. We can get much better at it with practice. And being able to move. This was a little… limiting, I think.”

Stiles nodded and didn’t look up. He’d noticed that Derek was so casually planning for the future, like it was just a natural given that they would keep hanging out.

“I like whatever we are,” he blurted out.

Derek offered a melancholy half smile, seeming not at all put off by Stiles’ runaway train of thought. Maybe he was used to it. “I do, too, baby.”

** 

Once the knot released, Stiles eased himself on his back next to Derek, who had closed his eyes and let his hands rest across his chest.

“Are you tired?”

“Almost always,” Derek answered honestly. “I’ve had an exhausting few weeks.”

“I’m sorry,” Stiles said reflexively.

“I’ll be all right. I’ve missed you.” He heaved a sigh. “I still miss you. Even when you’re here, I still miss you.”

“I’m sorry,” he repeated, and immediately kicked himself.

“I liked when it was us against our problems.”

“Alpha Ito filled me in on a lot of what happened, with your sister, and why she did what she did to me. She mentioned that she might become the Beacon Hills Alpha now that your sister is in jail.”

“Satomi is the best choice. She’s very likely one of the strongest people I’ve ever met.”

“I can’t remember things clearly, especially anything to do with you, but sometimes things feel familiar when people tell me them. Like a really wobbly, vague kind of déjà vu, you know? So I think I must have known it all before.”

Derek’s sigh snuck out under his breath. He sat up and reached over Stiles, pulling the comforter up and tucking it around Stiles like his own personal cocoon. They laid in silence for a long moment. Stiles was suddenly acutely aware of Derek’s hand, lying between them, pressing against his side through the soft batting of the comforter. He wasn’t sure if he should hold it or not.

His fingers twitched in indecision, but finally decided to stay in his burrito.

Stiles turned his head to look fully at him. “Have we gotten to the point where we can fart around each other?”

Derek looked at him sharply and threw his hands up in some sort of exasperated gesture. “Why do you use this as a measure of intimacy? How did this get to be an actual milestone for you in relationships?”

“So, we have, then?”

The laugh seemed to bubble from him, despite his best efforts to keep it in. He then smiled in earnest but turned away as if Stiles was too ridiculous to acknowledge. “Yes. I think you’ve actually been too comfortable with it. You’ve started refusing to take your lactose pills.”

“Obviously because I am _not_ lactose intolerant.”

“So, you don’t get gassy for two days after one bowl of ice cream?”

Stiles made a miffy little noise of dismissal.

“And you don’t make me rub your belly and tell me to ‘squeeze the farts out’?”

He wiggled down further in his blanket. “I don’t know. That could be true.”

“It is true, and it’s awful. You refuse to stop eating it. I swear you do it just to torture me.”

Stiles reached up to boop his nose. “Aw, all the better to smell me with, Big Bad?”

Derek made a half-hearted motion as if to swat his hand away, only to capture it and hold it inside his own, pressed against his collar bone.

“Did we ever have a fight? A real one?”

He considered briefly. “One time I wrapped you inside a sheet and threw you in the shower.”

“In the sheet?” Stiles laughed incredulously.

“Okay, you came all over yourself, first of all, and then I came on you, and then you came _again,_ and you didn’t want to get up. You were disgusting.”

“But in the sheet? What the hell? You made me into a cum burrito?”

Derek squeezed his hand. “You got what you deserved. But, no. We’ve never had a fight. We’ve always talked through things that bother us.” He paused before adding, “Whether you’ve liked it or not.”

“Mm. No. That doesn’t sound like me. Are you sure that’s me and not one of your other Omegas?”

“Definitely. They’re all much more manageable than you.”

Stiles grinned. “Asshole.”

“I am.”

“Are we exclusive?”

Derek turned his head fully and looked hard at him. Stiles began to feel a nervous tremor at the scrutiny, suddenly afraid in a way that he hadn’t been before he’d so casually asked.

His heart twisted. Old Stiles must have already known the answer. Oh, god, he suddenly didn’t want to know. He wanted to take it back and pretend like he hadn’t just ruined everything that this was, all that potential, all that fantastic, wishful thinking he’d been allowing himself to indulge in.

But Derek rolled to face him fully, his eyebrows heavy and serious. Stiles wasn’t sure if he was ready for A Talk and his eyes darted away from direct contact with Derek’s.

“I don’t care,” Stiles blurted out quickly, wanting this agony to end. “It doesn’t matter. I love you anyway. Whatever we are.”

He laughed softly, the stern expression breaking. “It does matter, we are absolutely exclusive, and I love you too.” He reached out and took the back of Stiles neck in his hand while pressing a kiss to his forehead. 

“You jerk,” Stiles said, a laugh forcing its way out of his chest. “You did that on purpose.”

Derek’s lips, still pressed on his forehead, curved into a smile. “Well, you’ve never had to ask. You’ve always known. I love you so much, Stiles.”

His cheeks felt a little warm. “I love you too. I’m sorry I don’t remember why. But I swear I do.”

Derek laid back and nodded. “I know, sweetheart. I promise that if the emissaries can’t fix you, we’ll do it all again, okay?”

Stiles smiled. “Farts and all?”

He just closed his eyes and relaxed further into his pillow. “Ah. How I’ve missed these little heartfelt moments.”


	12. Chapter 12

“Who are you again?”

The blonde woman with cheekbones like a supermodel inside the car glared daggers at him. “Stiles. Get in the fucking car.”

“I don’t know you!”

She looked away from him and pinched her lips together over the obvious protrusion of her fangs. “I’m in your pack, asshole, get in.”

“This is stranger danger!”

Stiles stood on the curb mutinously. He knew full well it was probably completely legitimate. Derek had texted and said someone named Erica was going to come pick him up, but as soon as he saw who it was, he was filled with an instinctual need to give her a very hard time.

“I was only told where I had to take you. Nobody specified in how many pieces.”

Stiles relented and finally slid into the leather bucket seat. Erica turned sharply out into traffic without signaling before he’d even buckled his seat belt.

She took turns too tightly and had no respect for stop signs or yellow lights. Stiles clung to the roof handle like his life depended on it, though he knew it wouldn’t make any difference. They did not speak. He did not unclench his jaw and, having no life to flash before his eyes, could only stare into the abyss of his impending death.

Erica pulled up to the front of a veterinary clinic. The lights were off, the parking lot was empty, and it looked closed up tight. Stiles glanced over it suspiciously.

“Is this where you’ll dump my body?” he asked.

She sighed with a growl in her throat. The leather of the steering wheel creaked with the force of her grip. “Yes, if you’re not out of this car in thirty seconds.”

“They’re closed.”

“I was only told to bring you here. Maybe someone else will get you. I don’t know, and I don’t care. My responsibility ends in this parking lot.”

“I have the feeling we were good friends,” Stiles said with a goofy smile.

She rolled her eyes away from him. “Besties.”

He stopped as he reached for the handle, hesitated, and turned back to her. Something inside was nagging him to be better, pulling him to stay, and be kind. A voiceless little cricket telling him to be a good person, like his father. “Thank you for the ride. I hope we are friends. The Emissary said that I forgot people I care about, and I forgot you.”

She sighed, sharply, and turned away to stare out the window for a long moment. Stiles waited; it hadn’t felt like a dismissal.

“Listen, I don’t know what they’re going to do to you, or if you’ll even remember this after they’re done… but I hope you get your memories back. Derek…” she sighed again, still refusing to look at Stiles. “Derek has really been different since you got hired. Like, he’s happier in ways that none of us were ever able to help him be happy. You have no idea how angry he used to be. Even when he was calm, he always had this… undercurrent. Like his rage was his only real anchor. I don’t think many people realized. He could hide it pretty well most of the time.”

She turned to look hard at the center console, but her hands were still gripping the steering wheel tightly.

“We all thought he was going to kill the last few assistants.” Erica laughed softly. “He’d get _so _wound up – and we all thought it was hilarious. They’d do something just absolutely stupid and he’d just, like, implode, and go rampaging into Lydia’s office like an absolute beast. We would crack up. And sometimes it wasn’t even their faults – Jackson, one time…”

She clicked her tongue and trailed off, shaking her head and trying to hide her smile.

“When I found out that it was you that had gotten hired, I think I knew… but…” She took a long breath in. “I’m really glad you found each other. You gave him somewhere to focus. Derek has been fighting with his anger for a really long time, and doing a really, really good job at it. Like, you have no idea. If you’d known him five years ago… And now these last few weeks have felt like that again. He’s only been pretending to have it together. He’s been on the verge of losing his shit as a default now and I’m not sure how many people even realize. But I realize, and I think it’s made me finally accept how valuable you are to him. To us. To the pack. He needs you back, Stiles.”

There was nothing Stiles could say, and clearly nothing she wanted him to say. She pressed the unlock button on the door. It had already been unlocked, but he knew what it meant. 

Stiles stepped into the parking lot, allowing Erica to speed away once he closed the door and stepped back.

The front door to the veterinary clinic opened with a peppy jingle. Dr. Deaton stood there, smiling warmly, today in a pink button down with a white jacket over it.

Stiles watched her taillights disappear and trundled his way in.

Deaton closed the door behind him and secured it with multiple locks.

“Glad you could make it so quickly,” he said.

“Erica is a very efficient driver,” Stiles explained diplomatically.

He gave a smile. “So I’ve been told. We think we have something that will help,” he explained. “Believe it or not, you’ve had a lot of people trying very hard to help you. I think we’re going to have some very good luck today.”

“Where’s Derek?”

He glanced at him, his smile crinkling the corners of his eyes. “Asking the important questions first, I see. He’s in the back. I’ll take you to him.”

Dr. Deaton led him down the dark hallway to an exam room, opening the door and allowing Stiles to precede him.

There was an exam table, but far larger than what would be for dogs or cats. It was human size, but rather than a polished stainless steel surface, laying on top of it was a solid bed of fresh moss. It was more than a little eerie, like something out of place that didn’t belong. Derek was on a tall stool nearby, a folded hand towel pressed over his nose.

The smell hit Stiles as soon as he entered. It was a sharp, sour, medicinal scent. Stiles instinctively covered his nose as well.

“You’ll get used to the smell. Derek will get you ready,” said Deaton, and stepped back into the hall.

He gravitated naturally towards Derek. “What’s going to happen? What do I have to do?”

Derek stood to meet him, drawing him into a hug. “You’re only going to sleep for a little bit.”

“Sure, make me do all the hard work.”

Derek sighed heavily above him. “If everything goes according to plan, you’ll be fine.”

“And if it doesn’t?”

“You probably can’t get that much worse.”

Stiles forced a laugh, despite the fear he felt. “Best at reassurance.”

“I am. Now, clothes off, let’s get you on the table.”

“No! It’s freezing in here!”

Derek pulled away from their hug. “Trust me, it’s better than getting that stuff on your clothes. The smell will never come out.”

Stiles glanced dubiously at the moss.

“I have blankets,” Derek offered.

“You damn well better.”

Stiles was in no real position to argue. He could have, and if he’d really had any doubts, he knew Derek would have called the whole thing off.

“Is it gonna hurt?” he ventured.

“No. It shouldn’t. This is old healing magic. Alan is going to keep you safe.”

“What if it doesn’t work?” Stiles hedged.

“Who knows? Maybe you lose more of your memory, or you stay the same. Then we just have a different problem to solve.”

He felt his heart pounding hard and fast in his chest, but he still started taking his clothes off anyways, letting Derek stack them nearly on a molded plastic chair in the corner.

Wordlessly, Derek helped him up onto the table, and bundled what had to be about a dozen white sheets over him. It was surprisingly comfortable, and he really was getting used to the herbal smell.

Derek opened the door and let the waiting druid slip back in, this time holding a silver canister. Deaton closed the door behind them and locked it on the knob and on a sliding bolt at the top.

“All right, Stiles. I’m going to set you up on an IV drip and get you attached to some monitors now,” he said, narrating his actions as he pulled over medical equipment from the far wall.

Stiles gave them a once over. “I didn’t realize magic was so high tech these days.”

“Our predecessors used what was available to them at the time,” he said lightly. “That much never changes.”

His work was so quick and efficient that Stiles began to doubt he was even a vet at all and not a regular people-doctor. But, to be fair, he didn’t know much about Emissary training. Maybe they were like midwives? Kind of in-between doctors but not really? He kept meaning to ask but always felt too awkward and small and intimidated when he was actually around one.

Derek opened the silver canister Deaton had carried in earlier. As Deaton busied himself sticking a vein in his hand with a needle the size of a small whale harpoon that Stiles was determined not to look at, he realized it was a thermos.

“Drink up, pup,” Derek said, handing him the lid.

Stiles propped himself up on his good elbow, pretending like whatever Deaton was doing was not happening. “What’s in it?”

“Nothing out of the ordinary,” the druid said. “Just a little mix with some mistletoe, rosemary, little honey, pinch of saffron. Few other aromatics.”

Stiles turned on him with a horrified look.

“And whatever you do, don’t throw up.”

**

Stiles realized only after waking up that the warmth of the sunshine had made him sleepy. He propped himself up on his elbows and looked back to the house. It was quiet. He could just barely make out his uncle smoking off on the other side of the property. His mother must not have been home; if she was, he’d be catching hell. She hated when he smoked near the house.

He’d been sitting out in the yard for a few hours judging by the creeping sunset. The sun was low in the sky. It had almost reached below the pines that surrounded the house.

The house had been in his family for generations. There were photos of it being built by his great-great-great grandfather Samuel – where he got his middle name from – in the late eighteenth century, after the gold rush had attracted new settlers to California. It had changed drastically from those very first photos; each subsequent generation had built and rebuilt on and around it. It was like a living, breathing member of their family tree. Hale pack had been living in this house for six generations.

His father was sitting nearby. He looked younger, like he was supposed to. He wanted to imagine his father as young and strong forever, and not face the reality of his aging. Stiles saw his father so infrequently that Noah seemed to age exponentially every time they met.

He knew, rationally, his father had been getting older, but when it was happening before his eyes, it had been so gradual that he’d never noticed. It hurt to be confronted with it. It kept breaking his heart every time.

“I’ve been the sheriff for sixteen years, kiddo,” he was saying. “I think four terms is enough to serve.”

“Are you sure? What are you going to do instead?” Stiles realized he was saying. The idea of change was scary. Who was his father if he wasn’t the Sheriff of Beacon Hills? To Stiles, he’d always been the Sheriff. Some people didn’t even know his name, they just called him Sheriff, like it was his first name and not an elected title. If people had to guess he had a first name, they’d probably just have guessed John. Like the most neutral, generic name possible. Like having a name besides Sheriff wasn’t possible. It’s who he was.

His father had laughed. “Come visit you a lot more often, that’s for sure.”

“But…” Stiles floundered.

“Stiles, it’s okay.”

“No, I mean, you can change your mind? This seems like such a big decision.”

“Too late now. It’s already October. Elections are in November, remember?”

That wasn’t right. It was already into November. It had been October sixteenth when Derek took him out to dinner, and they’d talked about it then…

This had been a phone call. His father had told him he wasn’t running for office in a phone call. Not in person.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” he asked, turning to look at him, but he wasn’t there anymore. Turning back to the house, it was gone too. The sun had set.

A smell crept into his awareness. It wasn’t the smell of the pine trees. It was something stringent, sharp, like eucalyptus—

—Stiles opened his eyes. Someone stood there, gently smoothing his hair, concern wrinkling their brow. His eyes adjusted to the light and the face slowly came into focus. 

“Derek,” he croaked out, his voice rough and broken. Derek! His Alpha! His boss! Oh, god, his whole world. His breath locked in his chest and he reached up, throwing his arms over Derek’s shoulders and clinging for dear life.

His breath came back in huge, heaving sobs that shattered everything inside his chest. Stiles clung as hard as he could, burying his face into his neck and trying to press their bodies tighter and tighter, drawing Derek down to him, until no space could remain between them, until their hearts could synchronize, and no piece of them would ever be forgotten or lost again.

Derek was shaking around him, not trying to be careful not to hurt him, just holding him with all the ferocity he had been holding back for so long. His arms became crushingly tight, but Stiles welcomed the reassurance of the pain. Being held so tightly made him feel so wanted, as if he were a cherished thing that his Alpha saw worthy of being kept close to himself. That had been worth waiting for.

Derek's hand curled around the base of his skull, cradling him with a soft grip.

“You little brat, you couldn’t make it easy for us,” Derek said with a tremulous laugh. “We made it all the way to Plan C.”

“I saw your house.”

Derek pulled back to look at him, a question in his eyes.

“I was in a field. Or a yard. The sun was setting. And I thought it was my house. But it was yours.” Tears began to well in his eyes and Derek’s face swam in his vision. “There were pictures in the hallway of all your grandparents and great grandparents and all the way back. The kitchen windows were drafty and in the winter you could hear them whistling and it drove your mom crazy, but your dad never minded it. Your mom’s office never stopped smelling like your grandfather, even after he died.” His throat was making it almost impossible to talk, but he wanted to keep choking the words out.

“It was a beautiful house,” Derek acknowledged, quieting him, his voice calm and steady. “I’m glad you got to see it.”

Stiles clenched his jaw and nodded, trying to blink back the tears.

“Do you feel okay?”

He nodded again, still not ready to speak. It was almost like he’d been on some kind of long vacation to someone else’s house, and forgotten about his own home, and now was suddenly readjusting to being back again. The idea that he’d lost so many pieces of himself, that he’d been living those weeks without them, threatened to pull him into a panic spiral. His breath started to come in shallow gasps.

“Stiles.” Derek leaned down to whisper in his ear. “Hey, Stiles. How many druids does it take to screw in a light bulb?”

Stiles froze, too busy suddenly being dumbfounded to panic. “What?”

“They don’t screw in light bulbs. They screw in stone circles.”

He pulled back to look at Derek, aghast and speechless in the face of such an incredibly awful, ill-timed, terrible joke. How in the hell had he ever fallen in love with him?

Derek just gave him a wink.

_Oh. Right. That’s why_.

“You’re going to be a little shaky,” Deaton warned, coming up beside him. “You’re definitely going to have a headache for a few days, so you’ll need to take it easy.”

Stiles’ eyes snapped to him and he nodded, his anxiety now moderately abated. “I’ll be okay,” he stated, more for himself than the Emissary.

He gently made his way to sitting properly with his feet on the floor, pulling the sheet over his lap. Derek steadied him on the edge as he waited for his head to stop swimming, removing the little sticky pads from where they were attached to his chest. Deaton carefully removed his IV, putting a superhero bandage over the site. Stiles let them work until he was finally a free agent again.

Stiles attempted a smile. “Thanks.”

Deaton gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “It’s the least I can do for Alpha Hale’s pair-bonded mate.”

Stiles felt his jaw drop open. “His fucking what?”

Deaton gave a laugh on his exhale and looked amused. “Well. I think I’ll just step out.”

The door clicked shut behind him.

“So. Okay. Your fucking what?”

Derek only laughed and put his forehead against Stiles’. “There you are.”

** 

“She took my Halloween,” Stiles realized, partially sitting up from the burrito made of multiple comforters he’d been burrowed inside of in the corner of the couch.

Derek didn’t stop rubbing his feet. “Your plans were to get super high and eat bulk discount candy. You can do that literally any day of the year.”

“She took our three-month anniversary.”

“We didn’t have plans.”

“She took the first time I was going to tell you I loved you.”

Derek’s eyebrows shot him a look. “That still happened.”

“No! I had it planned out! I was going to bake you a pie!”

“A pie.” His eyebrows now leveled Stiles with a look that spoke of skepticism and little faith in Stiles’ ability to actually make a pie.

“Shut up, it was going to be romantic and magical.”

“What kind of magical pie?”

“Umm….Aaaapp-Chhh-erry-berrrry?”

Derek smirked.

Stiles threw his hands up, which only created little tent puffs in the blankets. “Whatever I found on the internet that looked good, okay? I hadn’t gotten down to the details yet.”

“So how would it work, would you have put a message in it, or a note under the plate, or…?”

“I’d have said it.”

“Why couldn’t you just have said it then? Why is there a pie involved?”

“Because, romance, you idiot!”

Derek bobbed his head in agreement. “I would have been swept off my feet.”

“You would have,” Stiles insisted sulkily. “You’d have said it back too.”

“I did say it back.”

“But you would have then too.”

“I would have,” Derek agreed.

“I said it all stupid,” Stiles complained. “I was cum drunk.”

“Not a real thing.”

“I thought I had already said it!” 

“It was perfect.” 

“But…”

Derek picked up the remote to start the next episode of The Office. “That’s enough, Stiles. If you want to continue this conversation, it will have to be over pie, so I suggest you start googling.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for sticking with me, friends! This was literally my very first attempt at writing a fic in my life (usually they just rattle around in my head and I never do anything with them!). The respect I have for the other writers on this site is monumental. This was a lot of work.  
I now have many, many deleted fluffy smutty schmoopy scenes that I might finish up one day, but I am just thankful to have accomplished all that I did. Thanks, all!


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